


Who We Are

by lilaccoffee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Aromantic Niall, Bottom Louis, Depression, Fluff, Genderqueer Character, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mutual Pining, Painter Harry, Smut, Triggers, Virgin Louis, painter au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5629780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilaccoffee/pseuds/lilaccoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is an eighteen year old university student with an anxiety disorder. His only friend is Niall, who outshines Louis with his smarts and his personality. Desperate for a fresh start, Louis takes an art class, way outside his comfort zone. His plans to build a new life take a turn when he meets the hot teacher's assistant, Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Veronica, as always xx 
> 
> This fic has got some triggers so I'll put warnings in the chapters before it happens. Take care when reading and I hope you enjoy xx

The campus is packed. Everywhere he looks, Louis sees the colours of the university, people hanging out with their friends, groups and cliques and general popularity he doesn’t possess. He looks down at his tattered skinny jeans and feels out of place.

Niall grips Louis’ sleeve, tugging at his shirt until Louis looks at him.

“Do you think they’ll be a place we can go to figure out where the fuck we’re going?”

Niall asks.

Louis glances around. There are no teachers in sight. No booths or signs. Nothing. If only the university were smaller.

“I doubt it,” Louis says. “I think we’re just going to have to find our way around. You up for it?”

“Hopefully,” Niall says in response.

The two of them weave their way through the crowd. Niall elbows people out of the way, mumbling apologies when he receives glares. Louis hides behind him, clinging to his elbow. Niall’s always been the more assertive one in their friendship. Louis prefers to stay quiet and hidden. It’s a good thing that Niall enjoys being the centre of attention.

They find their biology class on the right side of the school, in the science and tech wing. If not for the wrong turn they took in the main hall, they would have made it to class on time.

They stumble into class ten minutes late. Everyone else is seated, listening to the professor go over the marking scheme and the rules he’s written on the board. Louis pauses at the door when what feels like hundreds of eyes turn to him and cringes. Niall isn’t fazed. Louis wishes he could be more like him.

“You must be Mr. Horan and Mr. Tomlinson,” the professor says.

“That’s us,” Niall says. “Sorry we’re late, we got lost. Granted now we know our way around the rest of the school, am I right?”

The professor only blinks. Louis closes his eyes in embarrassment, a blush blooming over his cheeks. He wishes Niall would just shut up so they can sit down and get out of the spotlight. He hates attention. Absolutely despises it.

Sometimes it’s a wonder how he and Niall work. Niall, who is loud and outgoing and always seems to have a million friends. And Louis, who is quiet and prefers to be alone. He’s always admired Niall’s carefree outlook, and it was Niall who helped him out of his shell when he hit a rough spot. Louis often wonders what it would be like to not be friends with Niall, who he would be, and he’s lucky he’s never had to know.

The professor hands out two thick booklets. “Grab these and take your seats. We’re on page three.”

Louis breathes out a sigh of relief. He follows Niall to the two open seats on the left side of the room, near the window. Their seats are in the middle of the row, which makes Louis nervous. Typically he sits at the back, where he can see everything. The thought of not knowing what’s going on behind him makes him nervous.

Sensing his discomfort, Niall lays a hand on his arm.

“Everything okay?” he asks sincerely. The concern in his tone makes guilt bubble up, and Louis forces himself to relax.

“Yeah, fine,” he says. “Just nerves. Don’t worry about me.”

Niall relents. He focuses on the professor and leaves Louis to wonder if he even cares that his best friend is suffering from bad anxiety beside him. They’ve been friends for too long for Louis to question whether or not Niall loves him, but he does anyway. It’s instinct. And after everything Niall has been through to support Louis while he suffered, Louis can’t help but wonder why he’s stayed so long.

Louis spends the next hour sweating. The classroom is too hot; humid air puffing up his hair and making beads of sweat roll down his forehead. It’s barely warm outside, but Louis sweats when he’s nervous. Anxious perspiration cursed him in his high school presentation days when all anyone seemed to care about were his pit stains and not his project.

Louis’ next class is psychology. Niall has advanced math. He’s a genius. Louis is average. Niall is studying science and math. And medicine, only because he thinks it’s cool. He wants to be a math teacher. Louis is studying a bit of everything and has no plan for the future.

His psychology class is set up in rows of single desks. Louis quickly takes a seat at the back of the room and cracks open a notebook. Single rows mean he doesn’t feel pressured to make small talk with the person sitting beside him. Single rows also mean he won’t make any friends.

Louis glances at the clock. One hour to go.

Louis has a habit of zoning out at the wrong times. So when the professor calls on him—“boy in the back staring out the window, is your head with us?”—Louis jolts. Someone beside him snickers.

Louis blushes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to daydream. I’m paying attention now.”

His heart picks up. The prof disregards him and continues writing on the board. Louis can’t get himself to calm down. He never speaks in class— _ever_. His fingers shake and his palms get damp with sweat. He wipes his hand on his jeans, trying to calm his racing pulse. The blood rushing in his ears is distracting.

He looks down.

“Sorry,” he repeats in a whisper.

There’s no one interesting in his class to talk to. In fact, no one is speaking at all. They’re all listening to the professor talk about mental health. It takes Louis a moment to realize everyone has notebooks out and is writing things down. Cursing himself, he slips a notebook out from his bag and cracks it open to the first blank page. It happens to be page two. He didn’t write a lot of things down during first period science, too busy battling his anxiety. He makes a note to ask Niall to lone him the notes later.

“What makes people tick?” the professor muses aloud. No one raises their hands to answer; it’s not that kind of question. “What causes someone to lose control?”

Louis thinks for a moment. Back when he was in high school, only a few months ago, social situations caused him to shudder. He thinks about raising his hand and offering his opinion (and experience, though no one needs to know that) on social anxiety, but thinks better of it. Without Niall to fall back on for comfort, he doesn’t dare to speak.

“Maybe it’s crowds,” the professor says. “Or maybe loud noises. Being alone. But regardless of fears, the human mind has a capacity to ignore intelligent thought to survive. In this course, we’re going to learn what drives the human mind. Fears, thought processes, genes. All things to help us understand mental illness.”

Louis feels his palms start to sweat. He wipes his clammy hands on his jeans and slams his notebook shut. A few people turn to look at him, but he doesn’t care. All he can hear is the beating of his own heart and the way the room is spinning.

He needs out. He needs to breathe.

He tucks his things away and murmurs a quick apology to his professor as he ducks out of the room. He finds sanctuary in the nearest washroom, locking himself in one of the stalls and sends off a quick text to Niall.

_Come quick. A wing bathroom. I need you._

_Lou, there’s ten minutes until lunch. Can’t this wait?_

Louis sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm down. He scrubs his hands over his face and tries to think of the best way to explain what he’s feeling to Niall.

_I think I’m having a panic attack or something. Please come quick._

Niall’s response is quick.

_On my way._

Louis pockets his phone and tries to think of something peaceful. The farthest he gets is a packed classroom making a lot of noise. Not much progress, really. He slides down the wall to sit on the floor, tucking his face into his knees. His jeans scratch his face and leave red marks on his forehead. Hot tears spill over and run down his cheeks.

 _What is wrong with me?_ He thinks.

Louis hears the distant sound of footsteps approaching the bathroom and reaches up to unlock the door. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t have to. He knows it’s Niall just by the distinct shuffling sound he makes when he walks.

Niall makes sure to lock the stall beside him. He sits down beside Louis, slinging an arm around him. Louis eyes the dirty floor, hyperaware of how grimy it is and too anxious to move. He is trying to stop crying, but failing miserably.

“What’s up, bub?” Niall asks. The phrase is comforting after years of use. There was a time Louis used to resent the nickname, but now he clings to it a reminder of things that have remained the same after all the changes in his life.

Louis leans his head on his shoulder. “My psychology class is getting to me.”

Niall stays quiet for a moment and lets Louis think. He knows Louis well, and he’s had enough experience with his panic attacks to know how to calm him. He gently presses his palm to the small of Louis’ back, letting him know he’s there. The physical reminder always grounds him, brings him back easier.

“Breathe with me,” Niall says.

He takes in steady, deep breathes, showing Louis what to do. After a moment, Louis is calmer, breathing in time with Niall. His breath catches every few seconds, but his hiccupping sobs have ceased.

“There you are.” Niall wipes the tears from his face with the pads of his thumbs. It makes Louis’ cheeks redden with embarrassment, but Niall’s gentle smile tells him he doesn’t need to be. He loves Niall so much, is the thing, and the reminder that this is his best friend and just how much he will do for him has warmth rushing through him. He might not understand the reasons why Niall has chosen him, but he appreciates him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

Niall shakes his head. “No need to be. What do you say about some lunch?”

Louis nods. He always gets hungry after panic attacks; drained, like all the energy has been sucked out of him.

He allows Niall to pull him up from the floor and slings his backpack over his shoulder. He’s quiet as they walk down the hallway to the cafeteria. Niall hovers by him protectively, reading to swallow him up in a comforting hug if needed.

There was a time Louis thought he was in love with Niall. He confessed this in the dark at one of their sleepovers back in ninth grade; handed over his beating heart and prayed it wouldn’t get broken. As soon as Louis saw the sad smile on Niall’s face he knew he didn’t feel the same. He tried not to cry, but he couldn’t help it. Niall just held him while he let it all out.

After Louis calmed down, he said, “I don’t do love. Or relationships. You could say that I’m aromantic.”

Louis knew what that meant. He had spent his summer on LGBT+ blogs, trying to find answers to his confusion. The day he stumbled across the term pansexual put all his fears at ease, and he didn’t feel so confused, so alone. So broken.

He understood Niall’s romantic orientation quite well. And although he wished it could be different, that they could date, all he did was hug Niall and tell him he thought he could be asexual. Niall had smiled, and they spent the night cuddled up watching movies.

They’ve become closer since then, and Louis is thankful Niall didn’t cast him aside like he meant nothing. Their bond only grew. Although Louis is still unsure if he is indeed asexual, Niall has assured him countless times that labels don’t matter, that he’ll figure it out in his own time. Louis trusts him. Niall has good judgement.

Louis picks out a table in the cafeteria as Niall waits in the lineup for food. He picks at his cuticles until he draws blood and recoils with a hiss. He sucks the metallic taste from his finger and grimaces.

“Here we are.” Niall returns to the table with a tray of food. A styrofoam plate of pizza is placed in front of him. Yellow grease stains the bottom.

“Thanks,” Louis says. He smiles tightly.

Niall reaches over to sympathetically touch his hand. Louis meets his eyes, head cocked to the side.

“You sure you’re okay?” Niall asks.

Louis shrugs. The pizza burns the sensitive skin behind his teeth.

“I’m tired,” he says. “But I’ll be okay. I promise.”

Niall nods. “There’s gonna be a party tonight. A kick off the school year type thing. This guy in my math class invited me. You should come.”

Louis is appreciative of the subject change. Niall knows him so well by now that all of these little things he does to make Louis more comfortable are second nature. Louis loves him; loves all he does for him.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’ll think about it. I don’t know if loud noises is really what I want tonight.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Niall assures him. “Have a quiet night at home. Light some candles. Take a bath. Read. Watch your favourite TV shows. I’ll stay in with you if you want.”

Louis shakes his head. “No, you go out and have fun.”

“Are you sure?” Niall asks.

“Yeah, of course.”

Louis dismisses him with a wave of a hand. He isn’t sure of his answer himself—company _would_ be nice—but he can’t expect Niall to put his life on hold for him. It’d be selfish, but sometimes Louis indulges himself and invites Niall over for movie nights and pretends he’s not hiding from himself and the world.

“It’ll give us some interesting stories to talk about tomorrow,” he adds.

Niall cracks a grin. “That’s true.”

Louis narrows his eyes. He knows that shit eating grin. He _does_.

“What are you not telling me?”

“There might be this hot guy in the art wing,” Niall says. “These girls in my math class were talking about him. I think his name is Harry or something.”

“Harry.” Louis turns the name over in his head. He’s never been in a relationship before, but he’s no stranger to everything that comes with finding people attractive.

“Maybe he’ll be the assistant for your art class,” Niall says hopefully.

“Maybe,” Louis echoes. “Is it okay if I get a head start to class? I have to figure out where I’m going and get set up and I don’t want to be late again.”

Niall nods. Louis throws his garbage away and grabs his book bag. It takes a series of twisty hallways and wrong turns before he finally manages to make it to his art class. There’s ten minutes to spare, just enough time for Louis to get set up and ogle the teacher’s assistant.

The class is empty when he arrives. The teacher is speaking to an attractive guy at the front of the room. He looks at least three years older than Louis, and paint is smeared on his clothes. His nametag reads ‘Harry’, and Louis smiles to himself. Niall was telling the truth after all.

He chooses a seat at the front of the class and begins unpacking his things. He’s never had any real artistic talent, but he isn’t the worst a person can be. He needs an arts credit and painting is the only thing he feels comfortable doing.

Harry meets his eyes, and they hold each other’s gaze. Louis feels his cheeks flush the longer they stare at each other and has to look away. Thankfully students start filing into the room, giving Harry something else to focus on.

They don’t paint anything the first day. The professor goes over the rules and then spends the remaining forty minutes giving lessons on all the different kinds of paint and brushes. Louis feels panic settling in the larger the list grows and begins regretting taking a class where he has to remember so many things. Even Niall’s advanced math is starting to become more appealing.

On his way out of the door, Harry stops him. Louis holds his breath, but all Harry does is pass him a booklet.

“Supplies you might want to think about getting,” he says.

His fingers skim across Louis’ hand when he lets go of the paper, and Louis feels warmth spread across his skin.

“Thanks,” he says.

“See you tomorrow.” Harry smiles a little, and Louis does his best to return it. The butterflies in his stomach are making it hard to concentrate.

He sends Niall a text once he gets into the hallway.

_I change my mind, I wanna go to the party. You ready to get shitfaced?_

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wait between this chapter and the next hopefully won't be as long. Enjoy xx

            Lunch is Harry’s favourite time of the day. Not because he gets to eat, but because the classroom he works in is always empty. Lunch is when he gets his peace, painting in solitude for a whole hour. It’s a luxury he hasn’t enjoyed in ages.

He welcomes the silence in the art room. His brush swirls around the paper, colouring mountains white with snow. The longer he paints the more the canvas looks like the mountains in Switzerland he and his sister, Gemma, went skiing in a few years ago. He wipes his brow, smearing paint across his forehead. He’s too tired to wipe it away.

Harry sits back in his chair and admires his work. The smudges at the corner of the page look like clouds if he squints. He frowns. Sometimes art is satisfying. Sometimes, like now, it makes him want to rip his hair out and cry for a while. There is rarely a middle ground; it’s one or the other.

Door hinges squeak. Harry drops his paint brush in the cup of water sitting on the table and spins around. Louis Tomlinson, the shy freshman from yesterday’s class, stands at the door, fingers pressed to his temple.

Harry snorts. “Long night?”

“You have no idea,” Louis groans. He points to an empty chair to Harry’s left. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“No, not at all.” Harry stares at him a moment. Normal people don’t ask to sit, much less have trembling fingers. _He’s nervous_. “Had your first college party yesterday, I take it.”

Louis blushes. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not really. Well, yes. You reek of alcohol and you look like someone is jumping on your skull with a steel boot.”

“I feel like there’s a drill against my forehead.”

“I remember my party days.” Harry isn’t exactly fond of them. Memories of passing out on foreign couches, too many hookups to count, and a collection of sad, angry paintings detail his freshman year. “Not exactly the best time in my life. But you had fun?”

Louis shakes his head. “Not really. My best friend, Niall, dragged me along. I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“So you got drunk?” Harry raises an eyebrow.

Louis goes even redder. “It sounds bad when you put it that way.”

“No judgement, I promise,” Harry says. “As long you can focus in class, that is. Professor Morton is letting me teach a water colour class today for those who don’t know jack shit about painting. The basics, you know?”

“Sounds like fun.” Louis leans forward in his chair and gestures to Harry’s painting. “What is that?”

“Mountains in Switzerland,” Harry says. “My sister and I went skiing there a couple years ago. I was looking through photos last night and I guess the mood to paint it just struck.”

“So you’re a professional artist then?”

Harry snorts. “Not exactly. I’m undiscovered. This is my first job. It’s not the greatest thing in the world because I don’t enjoy teaching art, I like doing it, but it gets my foot in the door.”

“What do you like to paint?” Louis asks.

“To tell the truth I’ve been in a rut lately,” Harry says. He isn’t sure why he’s telling Louis all of this, but despite his pounding heart, he feels at ease, even comfortable. “I haven’t painted anything original in ages. I like to take pictures from my photo albums and paint those.”

“I’d love to see them. The paintings, I mean.” Louis’ lips tremble as he speaks.

Harry can tell they’re both equally as nervous. He tells the butterflies in his stomach to calm down and listen to the cynical part of him that says that Louis’ infatuation is the typical student/teacher crush. Even still, he finds himself saying, “You should come over for dinner tonight.”

Louis hesitates. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother on such short notice.”

“I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you over,” Harry says. He rips a piece of paper out of his sketchbook and scribbles down his number and address. “Here. Come over for six thirty. Text me if anything comes up.”

Louis tucks the paper into his book bag and smiles. He points to an easel. “Is it okay if I get started on the assignment?”

“Nope.” Harry shakes his head. “Instructions are on the professor’s desk. I’ll be over here if you want any help.”

Louis toys with the end of his sweater, watching Harry carefully. The soft pink blush pooling in his cheeks seems to be permanent. Harry cocks his head.

“Do you need something?”

Louis shakes his head. “No. Sorry, I must have spaced out. Will you watch my bag for me? I’m just gonna run to the washroom before class starts.”

“Sure.”

Harry’s eyes follow him as he slips from the room. If he were paying close attention, he’d notice how Louis’ hands are shaking, how his breathing is getting more shallow; faster. He writes it off as the heat in the room and sinks into his chair. He picks his paintbrush back up and strokes the soft bristles with his finger. Dark blue gets over his fingertips, but he doesn’t wipe it away. He leaves it there to stain next to the paint splattered across his knuckles.

Harry slips the photo of the Swiss mountains out of his pocket. Gemma stands there in the middle, arms spread wide. Harry ignores the way his stomach lurches and slumps against the back of his chair.

He paints a tree where she stands, then one where he should be, and pretends he doesn’t notice the tears falling.

-

Harry returns home to an empty flat just after five. He feeds Cookie, the small brown and black spotted kitten waiting for him at the door, then heads over to Zayn’s. Cookie is good company at night and for days where he feels unlovable, because she’s always happen to see him. But she’s expensive, and Harry can barely feed himself. Art supplies are pricey and so is food. And rent. And clothes. Some days he’s close to drowning, but Zayn never lets him sink.

He collapses on Zayn’s couch with a beer and groans. Dakota, Zayn’s partner, sits on the opposite end of the couch, amused smile on their face. Zayn sits behind them, legs winded around their waist.

“Long day?” he asks.

Harry’s only response is another groan.

Zayn chuckles. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not particularly, but considering I’m gonna need your help tonight, I have to,” Harry says.

“You got a date?” Dakota asks. They’re kind, and Harry likes them, but he doesn’t quite think Dakota quiet understands his need for isolation. Dakota is the clingy type, attached to Zayn and hopelessly in love. Harry hasn’t had time for anything but his art since… ever.

Zayn knows this, so when Harry nods, he chokes on a sip of beer. Dakota pats his back, forcing the cough out. Their nails are painted blue today. They always have them painted, and Harry always pays close attention. It’s an art form he adores, especially with talent like Dakota has.

“Who’s it with?” Dakota presses.

“Don’t kill me,” Harry says, shooting Zayn a look, “but a guy in my freshman art class.”

Zayn groans. “ _Harry_.”

“I know, I know. The first date I have since… well, ever, and I chose someone four years younger than me. But he’s cute, and he doesn’t seem like the type of person to hurt others. He seems really sweet, and he’s interested in my art.”

“What if he’s just using you to boost his grade?” Dakota says.

“I guess I have to risk it, right?” Harry takes another swig of beer. The burn that radiates through the back of his throat is welcomed. “I’m not looking for a fuck. I haven’t been inspired in ages and maybe Louis can help with that.”

Zayn and Dakota exchange a look. Harry doesn’t understand them. They’ve been together ages—almost three years—and he’s been nothing but happy for him. He doesn’t think it’s too much to ask to want the same treatment.

“I’ll help you make dinner,” Zayn says. Harry sighs in relief. “Help” make dinner means Zayn doing all the work while he watches. Harry’s a terrible cook, and there’s no way he can get his flat clean _and_ make dinner in time.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Harry almost hugs him. _Almost_.

“Yeah, yeah.” Zayn rolls his eyes. He kisses Dakota on the cheek and stands. “You gonna stay here while we get Harry ready for his date?”

The gleam in his eyes makes Harry groan all over again.

“Yeah, there’s show I recorded I need to catch up on,” Dakota replies. They curl up on the couch, chin resting on the couch cushions.

Zayn bends to kiss them. “I’ll be back soon.”

Harry leaves his half empty beer on the table and follows Zayn to his flat. He’s just across the hall, only five steps away from his best friends.

Cookie is curled up in the living room on a mound of dirty clothes. Zayn stands frozen in place at the front door. He hasn’t seen the bedroom or the art room, or the kitchen, which looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in weeks. Dishes from two Sundays ago are stacked in the scene. Any hope Zayn had for him and the outcome of this date will vanish when he sees the state the rest of the flat is in.

“I am going to kill you,” Zayn says. “I can’t believe you dragged me into this.”

“Did I tell you he’s coming over in an hour?”

Zayn glowers. “I think you failed to mention that. This kid better be fucking beautiful or you’re dead. Your place is a fucking mess.”

Harry passes him a cookbook from the coffee table. “Guess you better get started on dinner.”

“I hate you.” Zayn glares.

“And I love you.”

-

A knock on the door comes at exactly six thirty. Harry tugs his shirt down and sucks in a deep breath as he opens the door. Louis beaming face greets him, warm and happy. Harry finds himself smiling back.

“Come in,” Harry says. “Let me take your coat.”

As he hangs his fall jacket, Louis stares at Harry’s place in awe. He brushes his fingers over the tables, the counters. Flour collects on his fingertips and he brushes them against his shirt. Cookie sits by his feet, sniffing him. She licks Louis’ socks and he giggles, brushing his fingers against her head.

“She’s adorable,” he says.

“She’s good company. Her name’s Cookie.”

Louis coos. “That’s adorable. I wish I had a kitten.”

Harry sets cutlery down on the small dining table and admires Zayn’s cooking job. His flat looks as dumpy as it did when he first bought it, and he feels pretty impressed with himself.

“You did all this?” Louis asks, finally taking in the fancy display on the table. He gestures to the steaming plates of food on the table.

Harry shrugs. “My friend helped. Zayn. He lives across the hall with his partner.”

“Tell him I say thank you.” Louis smiles shyly. His eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of the kitchen, and Harry has to look away before he kisses him.

He pulls a chair out and sits. “Let’s eat.”

Louis’ cheeks are flushed pink, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. Harry can’t tell if it’s nerves or because he cranked the heat in his flat up high. He pours them both a glass of wine and downs it in one shot. Louis doesn’t touch his.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” Harry asks.

“No, not that. I’m not eighteen yet,” Louis replies. “I shouldn’t be drinking.”

Harry curses himself. Of course Louis isn’t legal yet. _Of course_. Somewhere inside of himself his subconscious his nagging at him to back away now and not get involved. But his heart, the one that says the backflips it’s doing could be fun, wins, like it always does. He never listens to the smart part of himself, and it always gets him in trouble.

“When’s your birthday?” Harry asks.

“Christmas Eve,” Louis says shyly, like this is secret information.

“Christmas baby,” Harry hums. “That’s only a few months away. You can drink. I won’t say anything.”

“I’m not a drinker. Would it be okay to have water instead?”

Harry eyes him. Louis has his eyes fixed on his plate, bottom lip drawn between his teeth. Harry doesn’t have the heart to push the subject.

“Water, coming right up,” he says.

Louis looks appreciative when Harry sets the glass in front of him. He downs it in three

Large gulps and blushes when Harry refills it. He does that a lot, Harry has noticed, and he still isn’t sure if it’s cute or not.

Harry clears his throat. “What are you in university for?”

Louis shrugs. “Will you judge me if I tell you I don’t know?”

“Judge you?” Harry snorts. He gestures around his place. “I have a degree in art and I work part time as a teacher’s assistant. I can barely feed my cat. There’s no judgement here, I promise.”

Louis allows a small smile to grace his lips. “I like your place. Did you paint all the pictures that are hanging?”

Harry nods around a bite of food. “Yeah, back before inspiration escaped me. I know a lot of them seem rather abstract, but I’m sure if you look closer you can see a story in them. Like that one—” He points to a photo above the dining table “—might look like a cluster, but if you look closely you can see Cookie in there.”

“You paint beautiful things amongst the clutter. That’s beautiful—symbolic.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s nothing, really. Just something I do.”

No one has commented on his style of artwork before, not even Zayn, who often confesses that he doesn’t understand what the fuck he’s trying to paint. Lately the things he’s painted have been bland, pictures that make Zayn pat him on the back and compliment half-heartedly. But here’s Louis, who understands the message he was trying to say, who even finds it charming. Harry feels his heart flip, warmth spreading through him.

 _He’s seventeen_ , he reminds himself. _Control yourself. He’s just trying to get with me so he can get a good grade_.

No matter how many times he repeats this to himself, he still can’t make himself believe it.

“Let me show you around,” Harry says.

He piles their dishes on the kitchen counter and holds out his hand. He isn’t sure why he does it, but when Louis reaches for it eagerly and twines their fingers, it’s too late for him to take it back.

He leads Louis into his art room, where he spends most of his days. Canvases hang on the walls, easels, brushes and paint cans scattered around the room. He feels a flush of embarrassment brought on from the mess. He tried to clean up, but there wasn’t any space to put any of his supplies away.

Louis’ gaze flicks around the room, flickering over the paintings lining the walls. His eyes settle on the massive canvas set up on an easel in the corner of the room. He breaths out, “Woah,” and drops Harry’s hand to touch it.

The painting is only half finished, and Harry can’t even remember what he was attempting to paint. It’s the woods near his childhood home, but the centre of the picture has a combination of shapes and colours that he doesn’t recognize. The painting that he once spent hours on doesn’t feel like his anymore. He doesn’t feel any connection to what he’s drawn. No wonder he abandoned it.

“This is beautiful,” Louis breathes. “Why didn’t you finish it? It’s so good.”

Harry shrugs. “I wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

Louis looks around the room, stars in his eyes. He looks at Harry like he’s the world, like he holds the key to success. All Harry sees are failed paintings and things he’d never call works of art.

“You’re so talented,” Louis whispers, like if he says it louder it won’t be true anymore.

Harry tries to smile, but it doesn’t come across as anything convincing. He doesn’t understand what Louis sees. When he looks around, he sees mass disappointment and how good he used to be and what he is now. This room represents his failures, not his success.

Louis moves closer and places his hand on Harry’s chest. Harry eyes him, watching carefully as he stares at his lips. Louis moves closer, eyelids fluttering. Harry tenses and moves back so Louis’ hands drop to his sides.

“What are you doing?” he chuckles uncomfortably. His heart aches when he sees how Louis’ face falls.

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to try anything.” He steps back. He fixes his hoodie, shyly keeping his gaze kept downward.

Harry’s heart pounds in his chest. It’s been ages since he’s kissed anyone, much less someone as pretty as Louis. He turns around to compose himself, pressing his hands to his flaming cheeks. They were so close, close enough for the butterflies in his gut to make him scared.

He turns around with a paintbrush in his hand, brushing his thumb over the tip. He taps the end on Louis’ nose, causing Louis’ lips to twitch with a smile.

“I want to paint you,” he says.

Louis scrunches his nose when Harry taps it again. It’s like the almost kiss never even happened, and Harry isn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Why?” Louis asks.

“Because you’re beautiful, and I like painting beautiful things,” Harry says, and relishes in the way Louis’ cheeks flush a pretty pink.

“Okay,” Louis murmurs. He looks stupidly happy. “When do you want me over?”

“How about this weekend?” Harry suggests. “Whenever you’re free is okay with me.”

“Okay,” Louis says again. The cuckoo clock on the wall chimes eight times, altering them of the time. “I should go home, I’ve got homework.”

Harry has to tell himself that he doesn’t feel rejected and nods.

“I had a good time,” he says, because that’s what his sister told him to say when you wanted someone to like you.

“Me too.” Louis smiles.

Harry walks him to the door and passes him his coat. Louis shrugs it on, arms raised above his head so his hoodie rises up. Dark hair trailing from his pants to his bellybutton make Harry’s stomach lurch. That’s always been a turn on, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Louis was doing this just to tease him.

“Good luck with your homework,” Harry says. “See you in class tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Louis lifts up on his toes to plant a kiss to Harry’s cheek. He smiles shyly and slips from Harry’s apartment. Harry touches the spot where Louis’ lips just were and smiles. He picks up the paintbrush in his back pocket and feels inspiration flowing from his brain to his fingertips.

He locks himself in his art room with a cup of coffee and a blank canvas. He paints for hours, the rush from Louis’ kiss fueling him. When he steps back and admires his painting, he doesn’t feel disappointment.

There, in the middle of the canvas, is a silhouette of his own face, a single red lip print pressed to his cheek.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, this has been a busy, busy month for me. Easter break is next weekend, and this week was March break, so things seem to be evening out. The next chapter will (hopefully) be out soon. 
> 
> This chapter has a trigger warning for slight references to past self harm, and mentions of depression/anxiety. Take care xx

Louis eagerly knocks on the door when he reaches Harry’s apartment. He’s holding a plastic bag with the dinner he prepared (he didn’t actually—he bought it). Niall went and got it for him from the store while he took a shower, and he spent the thirty minutes before he had to leave curled up in Niall’s arms, spewing dark thoughts he had about the night. Niall was as supportive as always, petting his hair and whispering soothing things. He even wiped away Louis’ tears and kissed his forehead like his mother used to.

Louis shifts his weight to the balls of his feet and sucks in a deep breath. The takeout chicken burns his palms, but he ignores it. The dull pain grounds him from his racing thoughts.

When Harry finally opens the door, Louis has managed to make his heart stop beating, but it’s a short lived relief. The roof of his mouth goes try when he takes in Harry’s appearance. Paint stained t-shirt, low hanging grey sweats, messy hair…Louis is weak for him.

Harry smiles. “You brought dinner.”

“I did.” Louis holds up the bag. “I hope chicken’s okay. I think there’s some potatoes, too.”

“Cool. Thank you for bringing food. I was _not_ prepared for dinner.”

Harry takes the bag from him and steps to the side to Louis can enter his apartment. He unpacks the food on the counter while Louis toes off his shoes and hangs his coat.

“Are you hungry now?” Harry asks.

The food smells good, but instead of making Louis’ mouth water, it makes his stomach churn. He’s too nervous to eat.

He shakes his head.

“No problem. We’ll eat later.” Harry puts the food in the fridge. He pauses by the sink for a moment, wringing his hands.

“Is everything okay?” Louis asks. Part of him wishes Harry would ask him the same thing.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry says. “I’m just thinking of how I want to paint you. If I’m being honest, I’d paint you in every possible way if you’d let me.”

Louis blushes. “Even naked?”

Harry blushes back. “Sure.”

He begins to wonder towards the art room. Louis follows, skimming his fingers over things as he walks. He’s seen everything before, but he still finds Harry’s stuff fascinating. He has a collection of nick knacks around his place that Louis is engrossed with. Harry’s apartment is much better than his shitty dorm room.

In the art room, Harry’s set up a large canvas and a stool. Oil pastels and water colour paints line the easel, paint brushes tucked into a can. Harry pulls a stool out from under the small work bench in the corner and pats it. Dust lines the wooden seat, making Louis grimace.

“Sorry about the mess,” Harry says, though the apology comes off as insecure. He doesn’t seem embarrassed by the mess. If the bags under his eyes are any indicator, he’s too tired to care about cleaning.

“It’s okay,” Louis says. He picks at his nails absentmindedly. “Is there a certain way you want me to sit?”

“Let’s try this.”

Harry reaches out to touch him, moving his body around as he searches for the perfect angle. Louis blushes when Harry’s fingers graze his cheek. His heart is beating so loud that he worries Harry can hear it.

Harry steps back to admire his work, head tilted to the side in concentration. “Perfect,” he says.

Louis smiles.

Harry studies his face for a moment, eyebrows furrowed with focus. He selects a thick charcoal pencil from the easel and pauses. Louis almost wilts under his heavy gaze, but then Harry smiles and presses the tip of his pencil to the canvas.

“Sorry,” he says in explanation to his staring.

“It’s alright,” Louis replies. His cheeks seem to be permanently pink around Harry.

“You’re gorgeous,” Harry says.

Louis freezes. Harry’s eyes close momentarily, embarrassment written over his face. Louis wilts. Clearly Harry didn’t mean to say it, and Louis mind immediately starts screaming at him that he was lying. Even with the crippling self-loathing, the compliment still warms his stomach. He’s never been called gorgeous before, especially by a pretty boy.

“Sorry,” Harry repeats.

Louis ducks his head. “It’s okay. I liked it.”

Harry doesn’t respond. He puts his pencil pack to the paper, flicking the tip over the page. Messy, dark lines appear, shaping Louis’ face. He draws sharp lines for shoulders and softer lines for hair, and soon, the shapes on the page begin to look more like Louis and less like an explosion of graphite.

Louis watches as Harry picks up his watercolour pallet. He selects a thick brush and dabs it in the cup of water Louis never noticed him fill and dabs the bristles into the blue paint.

The silence is suffocating. Louis fixes the collar on his shirt as a distraction. He hopes Harry doesn’t notice the sweat stains pooling in his armpits.

The longer they remain quiet, the longer Louis has with his thoughts. He questions the painting Harry is making of him, if it will really make him look as gorgeous as Harry said he is. Niall has so much confidence and Louis just doesn’t understand. How can Harry call him gorgeous when he hates everything that he sees when he looks in the mirror?

“Done,” Harry says, breaking Louis from his thoughts.

Louis startles. He isn’t sure how long he’s spent lost in thought, but he’s thankful to get a break from the negativity that consumes him.

Louis picks himself up from the easel and stands beside Harry. Their fingers brush briefly. Louis isn’t sure who instigated it, but he isn’t the first to pull away.

“Wow,” he breathes when he sees the portrait.

The painting is gorgeous, but it doesn’t create a boost the boost of self-love that Louis expected. The pencil lines aren’t what Louis expected. Instead of creating the portrait, they make up the details, like the freckles on his nose and the lines on his bottom lip. Louis touches the features Harry payed the most attention to, smiling warmly. He never expected anyone to notice him in such an intricate way.

“Do you like it?” Harry asks, suddenly shy.

Louis turns to him. He wants to smooth the worry lines on Harry’s forehead and make him realize how talented he is, but he can’t find the voice to comfort him.

“It’s amazing,” he says. “I—thank you. Really.”

Harry smiles. Louis leans closer so their flush together. He isn’t sure what he’s doing, but Harry isn’t pulling away, so he keeps himself against his side.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs. His boldness surprises himself.

Harry sucks in a breath. He leans closer subconsciously, and Louis’ eyes flicker to his lips, pink and soft and inviting.

“So do it,” Harry murmurs back.

Louis’ teeth sink into his plush bottom lip. He shakes his head, toeing at the stained floor.

“I shouldn’t. I mean, you’re practically my teacher. We shouldn’t do this.”

Harry nods. It’s the most mature thing he’s ever heard Louis say. Part of Louis wishes he could kiss Harry anyway, but he knows if he does that the feeling he’ll get late at night won’t be worth the butterflies and satisfaction he’ll feel now.

“I should head out. I’ve got lots of studying to do,” Louis says.

He catches Harry pinching himself on the arm. “I’ve fucked things up, haven’t I?”

“No, Harry, you haven’t. I just really need to study,” Louis says. “I’m sorry. We should do this again soon, as long as you promise to keep things platonic.”

He’s the one who brought up kissing, but thankfully, Harry decides not to mention it.

“The painting is beautiful,” he adds, because he doesn’t want to make Harry feel as self-conscious as he does all the time.

“Thank you for coming,” Harry says. It’s too formal. Louis’ chest clenches.

In an attempt to ease the awkwardness, he wraps his arms around Harry in a quick hug. The way Harry freezes before he sinks into it makes Louis aware of how big of a gap has grown in between them in the last couple of minutes.

“See you Monday,” Louis says, and hurries from the room. He doesn’t even care about collecting the painting or the dinner in the fridge. He just wants to go back to his cramped dorm room and pretend that he doesn’t feel like the biggest fuck up in the world.

 

-

 

Niall shows up late to psychology, and Louis doesn’t get a chance to talk to him until lunch. He’s been bursting with the need to tell Niall about his disastrous almost kiss with Harry since Saturday, and no amount of journaling or shower cries has taken the need away.

Like usual, Louis finds a seat in the cafeteria while Niall goes to get food. He feels the first bit of relief since the weekend when he remembers he doesn’t have to speak to the lunch staff. It’s only temporary, though, because he remembers he’ll have to see Harry after lunch, and he’s not ready to face him.

When Niall joins him at the table, he’s accompanied by the guy that invited them to the party last weekend. Liam Payne smiles at him, and Louis gives a little wave.

“How was your date at Harry’s?” Niall asks. Louis knew it was coming, but he thought he’d at least get some time to prepare. Despite Liam’s presence, he starts talking.

“We almost kissed,” he says. Niall raises an eyebrow, but Liam appears worried.

“Isn’t Harry, like, twenty three?” he asks.

Louis shrugs. “Yeah. So?”

He tries to brush it off, but their age gap has been bothering him all weekend. Harry’s too old for him, he knows, but that doesn’t stop the intense admiration he has for him. He knows Harry will get bored of him, knows that he can’t possibly be the type of person Harry would want to be with, but he’s still hopeful that maybe, _maybe_ , they have a chance.

“Why ‘almost’?” Niall asks, diverting the subject from their ages. Louis is thankful.

“I got scared,” Louis admits. “You know that I’ve never kissed anyone.”

Liam’s eyes widen. “You’ve never had your first kiss?”

Louis blushes. Thankfully, Niall intervenes.

“Louis’ shy, and our high school was small. Mostly everyone was taken. Well, everyone worth Louis’ kisses,” Niall says, winking. Louis cracks a smile, and Niall counts it as a win.

“I sort of, uh, ran out,” Louis says.

Niall sighs. “Louis.”

“I’m sorry! I was embarrassed, and I didn’t want to hear him reject me.” Louis was the one who decided they shouldn’t have kissed, but he was so certain that Harry would have said the same thing. He wanted to say it before he got his heart broken.

“I understand. I’m proud of you, you know,” Niall says. “You tried, and I’m happy for you. Really. If Harry is who you want to be with right now, then I support that, especially when you’re starting to come out of your shell. Right, Liam?”

He raises an eyebrow.

Liam plasters on a too enthusiastic, obviously fake smile.

“Definitely,” he says. “Listen, I’ve got to head to class, but good luck with Harry. I’ll eat with you guys again tomorrow.”

“See you,” Louis says quietly, and Niall waves goodbye around a mouthful of food.

“Will you be okay during art?” Niall asks gently.

Louis shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t have an official plan, but I was thinking of sitting in the back row and not saying anything, doing everything Harry and Ms. Morton say, pretending the almost kiss didn’t happen.”

Niall smiles sympathetically. “You should just talk to him. You never know, Lou, maybe he feels just as awkward and embarrassed as you.”

“What if he rejects me, tells me that it was a mistake and that we should just be student and teacher’s assistant?” Louis asks.

“Then it happens, and you accept that he’s not interested,” Niall says. “If that happens, it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you, either. Don’t you remember ninth grade? We weren’t meant to be boyfriends but we’re supposed to be best friends. Everything worked out for us. Maybe you’re not supposed to be Harry’s boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean that you won’t be friends.”

Louis is quiet for a moment, turning Niall’s words over in his head. Finally, he smiles.

“You’ve always been the smart one in this friendship.”

Niall laughs. “I know.”

Louis puffs his chest, feeling a sudden burst of confidence.

“I can do this,” he says. “I’m gonna go to art class and it’s going to go well.”

Niall breaks out into a grin. “Hell yeah it well. You’ll be awesome.”

“Come over tonight,” Louis says. “I’ll tell you _all_ about it over pizza on my uncomfortable dorm room bed.”

“I accept,” Niall replies just as the bell rings. “I’ll see you at six. Now go kick ass in your art class.”

For the first time, Louis holds his head up high as he heads to his art class. He smiles at Harry when he enters and takes a seat at an easel. His confidence doesn’t stretch far enough to keep him in the front row, but he chooses the middle instead of the very back of the room.

As he unpacks his art supplies, Harry leans against the stool beside him. Louis smiles to himself, but he isn’t feeling as confident as before. Faced with Harry’s presence, he clams up, uncertain of the plan he and Niall created.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“About this weekend,” Harry says lowly. Louis freezes. Harry’s going to reject him. He knows it. “I’m sorry if I scared you off. I didn’t mean to push you too far, or anything like that.”

 _Oh_. That’s not rejection. No. That’s Harry apologizing, because he’s worried if he did something wrong. He’s not telling Louis they should just be friends. He’s expressing interest. Louis’ stomach flutters, but in a good way.

“You didn’t scare me,” Louis says. “I’m sorry for running off. I was worried that you weren’t into me, so I left before you could tell me.”

Harry shakes his head. “I’m more into you than you know.”

Louis blushes, looking down.

“You could come over later, if you want,” Harry continues. “I painted something that I’d love to show you.”

“I’d love to, but my best friend is coming over tonight,” Louis says. “We’re only having dinner together, so I can come over after. Is eight alright?”

“Sure.” Harry smiles. The bell rings, and he straightens up. “See you tonight.”

Louis smiles and nods. He spends his class pretending to focus while he thinks of what it would be like to kiss Harry, heart fluttering happily.

 

-

 

Niall’s specific knock pounds at the door. Louis opens the door for him and sighs when he notices the bottle of wine in his hands.

“Really? Wine?” He tries to sound stern, but he’s still fond. He’s always too fond.

“Hey, it wouldn’t be a proper Louis and Niall party without wine,” Niall says. “Besides, I didn’t forget your request. I brought pizza.”

“I see that.” Louis takes the bottle of red wine and the pizza box from him and sets them down on his shitty countertop. Years of stains from previous students make for a depressing sight.

Louis settles on the floor as Niall shrugs out of his outside clothes. He brings the pizza and the wine bottle over and sits beside Louis.

“I didn’t see any glasses in your cabinet, so I hope you’re okay if I just drink out of the bottle,” Niall says.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Louis replies. “I haven’t done dishes in ages. Have you seen my overflowing recycling bin? I haven’t had anything other than bottled water from the vending machine since the first week of school.”

Niall chuckles and takes a swig from the bottle. “It’s like the summer our families went on vacation together and left the both of us home. We survived on takeout for a week.”

“Our parents yelled at us,” Louis says, laughing at the memory. “We racked up the biggest bill imaginable.”

Niall cackles. He takes three big gulps of wine. He feels happier the longer he drinks, tipsy on the cheap wine.

“We had good teenage years,” Niall says.

“Mostly. It was shitty sometimes, though, remember?” Louis says. He definitely wouldn’t be saying all of this if he wasn’t around a drunk Niall and in a food coma. “I was so sad throughout high school. Now I’m just a constantly anxious ball of disappointment.”

“You’re not,” Niall disagrees. Even intoxicated, he’s still kind and supportive. Louis picked a good friend. “High school was hard, though. You were in guidance a lot, and I always came because I was your crisis buddy.”

“I was too acquainted with the guidance counsellors.”

“It was really hard when you tried to kill yourself,” Niall says suddenly.

Louis lays down against the floor and rubs the carpet with his palms.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I felt so guilty about it for the longest time. I still think about that night, how low I felt. I’m glad I don’t feel that sad now. I know—I know I still have problems, but I’m better than before, at least.”

Niall reaches for his hand, squeezing. Louis turns his head to look at him, blinking sleepily.

“Me too,” Niall whispers. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Louis smiles tightly. He doesn’t want to talk about his teenage years anymore. He’s tried for years to block them out, and he’s almost been successful. They only seem to surface on nights where alcohol is around.

“I’m tired,” he says. He heaves himself off the floor and holds out his hand. “Come on, big guy. Let’s head to bed.”

Niall groans. He lets Louis pull him to his feet and slumps into him. They collapse on Louis’ bed, bellies full of pizza and drunk on wine. Louis falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, his date with Harry completely forgotten.

-

 

Louis wakes with a pounding headache. The smell of stale booze on Niall is making him nauseous. He groans, rubbing his throbbing temples. The blinking light on his phone is irritating. He unlocks his phone and skims through his notifications.

Worried texts from Harry clutter his inbox, times ranging from last night all the way to the morning. He checks the time. It’s half past noon. He’s slept through going to Harry’s, school, and finishing his assignments. His heart rate quickens with shame and worry.

He skims through Harry’s texts.

_Are you okay? You’re an hour late._

_Louis?_

_You were supposed to come over last night and you never called to cancel. Is everything okay? I’m worried about you. Call me when you get this._

Louis rarely talks on the phone, and definitely not in the mood to do so now. He thumbs out a text to Harry and hopes he’ll get it sometime during art class.

_I’m so sorry, Niall brought wine and we got drunk. We’ll get together soon. I’ll make this up to you, I promise. I’m really sorry._

He drops his phone onto his pillow and rolls to his side. He presses against Niall, curling into his warmth. Niall stirs, but he doesn’t wake.

Louis turns over his wrists and traces his fingers over the faded scars. Why would Harry want him when he’s this fucked up? Louis tells himself it’s only a crush, that it’ll pass as soon as the year is over, but he knows he’s gone for him already. He couldn’t stop his feelings if he tried.

He curls into a ball on the bed, listening to Niall snore.


	4. Chapter 4

Louis is emailed a schedule change Sunday night, and he goes to school Monday filled with anxiety. Apparently there was a placement problem, and his science class has been switched to second semester. Now he has a free period first thing in the morning, which means he doesn’t have to get up as early and get to the building at ass o’clock in the morning, but he had gotten used to a routine, and now that it’s been switched, he has to adjust to a whole new schedule and way of doing school life.

Despite the irritation and the anxiety from the situation, one good thing has come from it. Niall’s stalker abilities have given Louis the knowledge that Harry doesn’t assist in Ms. Morton’s art class until second period, which means they have a full ninety minutes to chat until they both have to go to class. Louis’ stomach flips with butterflies just thinking about it.

He carries two coffees with him as he enters Harry’s studio. His backpack bounces as he walks, weighed down with textbooks. He sucks in a deep breath and makes an effort to tell himself to be normal, tries to keep himself composed. Louis briefly wonders when talking to people became such a difficult, anxiety inducing task, but fails to remember a time when he was comfortably social. He cringes; has he always been so fucked up?

As he knocks on the door to Harry’s studio, he has a brief moment of panic where he wonders if that’s normal and almost turns and flees. But then Harry turns around and smiles, and he feels himself relax just a little.

“Hey,” Harry says. He pats the empty stool beside him, signaling him over. Louis takes a seat before he can second guess himself and come across as awkward and sets the coffees on the table.

He passes one to Harry.

“This is for you,” he says. “I didn’t know what you liked so I just got it black, but you can have mine if you don’t like it. I have a latte. Caramel, I think. I can’t quite remember, but—”

Harry lays a hand on his arm, silencing him mid-sentence. Louis blushes. He always rambles when he’s nervous. It’s a terrible habit he hasn’t been able to control. Niall insists that it’s completely fine and not at all annoying, but it’s hard to believe someone who’s had almost five years to adjust to it.

“I’m fine with black,” Harry says with a gentle smile. “Thank you for getting this for me. How much was it? I’ll pay you back.”

Louis shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. It’s on me.”

“Oh.” Harry seems surprised. “Thank you. Really.”

“No worries.” Louis smiles.

They sit in silence for a few moments as Harry sketches. Louis waits to take a sip from his coffee until Harry does, just to make sure it’s acceptable to drink. He’s sure it’s invasive, but he peers at Harry’s sketchbook as he draws, grinning at the way the thick charcoal lines become something.

Harry glances up. “See something you like?”

Louis freezes, expecting to be yelled at, because yeah, he was spying. But then Harry smiles and his heart starts beating again.

“Don’t worry, it’s nice that you’re into my art,” Harry continues. “No one really cares about it. It really does mean a lot that you’re so interested in it.”

“And you,” Louis says without thinking. He almost hits himself, but Harry blushes, so he keeps going, a small spark of hope in his stomach as he says, “I’m really into you.”

Harry’s fingers brush against his, and momentarily, Louis thinks they’re about to hold hands, but Harry pulls away as quickly and unexpected as his touch.

“We should go out for dinner sometime,” Louis blurts out. He and Niall had talked about it early in the morning, when Niall was drunk and Louis’ brain was clouded with exhaustion. He didn’t think he’d actually ask, but this day is full of surprises.

Harry tenses, and Louis has a moment of panic. He knew Harry couldn’t have possibly been into him. He knew, deep down, that this would happen. He can feel the pending rejection the longer Harry chews at his lip in thought.

“I would love to, Louis,” Harry begins, and Louis braces himself, “but I don’t have a lot of money right now. Art supplies are expensive and so is rent and my cat and clothes and utilities. I can’t afford it. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll pay,” Louis says, trying to ignore how desperate he sounds. “I’ll borrow my friend’s car and pick you up and everything. It’ll be a proper date.”

Harry’s mouth twitches up at the mention of the word ‘date’.

“Okay,” he finally agrees, allowing himself to smile. “We can go tomorrow, if you want? But just so you know, I haven’t been on a date in ages, so forgive me if I’m a little rusty.”

“I’ve never been on one,” Louis admits. He wonders if that’s the wrong thing to say, but he’s sure Harry’s guessed that by now.

“Then I’ll make sure I’m the best first date you’ll ever have,” Harry says.

Louis giggles. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that.”

Harry barks out a laugh and turns back to his sketchbook. “You better.”

 

-

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Louis fumbles with the button on his jeans, buttoning and unbuttoning it a few times with shaking hands. Niall reaches for them, links their fingers together and squeezes.

“You can do this,” he says. “Harry likes you, or else he wouldn’t have said yes. He wouldn’t keep inviting you over. You don’t have anything to prove, Louis.”

He shakes his head. “He barely knows me. What if he hates me when he realizes what I’m really like? You know I’m fucked up, Niall.”

“You’re not fucked up,” Niall says certainly. “You have your struggles, but that doesn’t equal fucked up.”

“Don’t do that, you know I hate it when you talk it down,” Louis says. “You know how bad my anxiety gets. You remember ninth and tenth grade. You know how many times I tried to kill myself before my mum finally realized that something was wrong.”

Niall looks away. The faint scars on Louis’ wrist suddenly seem to have flashing lights on them, putting them on display.

“That doesn’t mean you’re fucked up,” Niall says again. “You didn’t make the decision to get depressed, Lou. It just happened. No one knows why, and we’ll never understand it, but it doesn’t defeat your quality as a person. What you’ve been through, what you’re going through, it’s not all you are. You’re more than depression. You’re more than anxiety.”

Louis meets his eyes. “You mean that?”

“Of course I mean that.” Niall’s eyes glint. Louis can’t stand knowing he’s the cause of those tears. “Harry’s going to see that to.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then that has nothing to do with you,” Niall says. “You’re a great person, and that stands as a truth despite what is seen by others. You don’t have shit to prove to anyone. You just have to know it yourself, in here.” He pokes him in the heart. “Everything else will fall into place.”

“You sound so sure of yourself. Why?” Louis doesn’t understand. How could someone have so much confidence in him? How could someone believe in him in such a sturdy, unwavering way?

“Because you’re still here, and you’re still fighting,” Niall replies. “You’re worth it, Louis. You always have been. Fuck anyone who can’t see it. You don’t need them. I promise you that you will be okay no matter how this date turns out. Though I am ninety percent sure it will go awesomely, I will be here no matter what, especially if it doesn’t. You know that, right?”

Louis remains silent for a second, but eventually nods. “I know. I’ve always known, even when I struggled to believe you. I love you, Niall. Thank you for, you know, comforting me and being the best friend I could ever ask for.”

Niall smiles and pulls him in for a quick hug. “I love you, too. There’s no need to thank me, you know that. Now come on, you have to pick up Harry soon. Let’s get you ready.”

Louis stays quiet as Niall chooses clothes for him, only nods or shakes his head at the options. Finally, they settle on a dark plaid jacket to go with his black jeans, and when Louis looks in the mirror, he feels a small wave of confidence. He nods to himself. This is the look.

“I’m ready,” he says.

Niall spins him around and places his hands on Louis’ shoulder. He looks him straight in the eye, smiling gently.

“You got this,” he says. “You can do this, I know you can. You’re awesome.”

“I know.” Louis smiles back, trying to assure himself and Niall. “I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

Niall pats him on the cheek. “Have fun.”

Louis listens to the quiet hum of the radio on his way to pick up Harry. The soft crooning from adored bands makes it easier to focus on the road. Though when he picks up Harry, the jittering in his leg begins, and even the music doesn’t help his concentration.

“You’re gonna crash the car,” he jokes. He places a hand on Louis’ knee to soothe him.

Louis barks out a laugh, feeling the tension ease. He rolls his shoulders back and lets himself go lax with Harry’s touch.

Louis can tell by the look on Harry’s face when they enter the restaurant that he’s not used to something so fancy. He smiles up at him, ignoring his rapidly beating heart.

“I made a reservation,” he says. “Come on.”

Before he can think twice, he reaches for Harry’s hand and tugs him up to the front desk. Harry’s blush mirrors his.

Once their seated and their orders have been taken, Louis can’t breathe. There’s no music or menus to distract them, it’s purely conversation. Suddenly he’s forgotten his ability to speak.

“When did you and your best friend meet?” Harry asks. It’s a simple question, but Louis draws a blank momentarily.

“His name is Niall,” he says. “We met first year of high school. I didn’t have friends going in and he had a ton and we just clicked. Been inseparable ever since.”

“He sounds like a good guy,” Harry says. “Zayn is too. My best friend. It’s been years since we met and yet he’s still around. He’s probably the only one who knows everything about me.”

Louis smiles. “He sounds nice.”

“He is. And he’s supportive and quite open minded, which is good too.” Harry pauses for a moment. “We could get to know our friends instead of each other all night. Tell me about you. What’s your family like?”

“I have a lot of sisters,” Louis replies. “Mum is divorced so she lives with them at home in Doncaster. We don’t talk as much since I started uni but we were quite close. What about you? What’s yours like?”

“There’s my sister, my mum and her boyfriend. We’ve both moved out, obviously, so they live at home by themselves. Gemma—my sister—wants them to get married but I know my mum won’t. Her first marriage ended so badly, so she’s happy the way things are. Robin’s understanding, and he’s just happy to have her.”

“That’s sweet.” Louis smiles. “I know my mum is interested in someone but she says it’s hard to find time for dating when she has four kids under the age of thirteen. Your mum is lucky that she’s able to settle down and be happy again.”

“What are your sisters’ names?” Harry asks. “Sorry if I’m being intrusive. You make me nervous—I mean. Fuck.”

Louis giggles. “You make me feel the same way.”

Harry smiles. “Glad to know it’s mutual.”

“Charlotte is the oldest, but we all call her Lottie. Then there’s Felicite, the middle kid, and the twins, Daisy and Phoebe.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said your mum has a handful.” Harry’s eyebrows crease quizzically. “Kids are nice, though.”

Harry’s fingers brush his as he says, “I’ve always wanted them.”

Their eyes lock, and Louis is hyperaware of Harry’s intense stare.

They’re interrupted by the food getting placed on the table, and once they start eating, the sizzling tension has passed. Louis smiles to himself and focuses on his meal.

-

 

“Thanks for the ride,” Harry says. His fingers linger on the door handle for a moment. “I had a really nice time tonight. Thank you for dinner.”

Louis smiles. “Let me walk you to the door.”

They take small footsteps as they climb the pathway, fingers brushing gently. Harry pauses outside his flat, and even in the dark, Louis can see the soft pink in his cheeks.

“Is this where we kiss?” he murmurs, and feels himself blush.

Harry smiles. He presses his hand to the door and leans down, lips brushing with Louis’ gently. His spare hand finds his way to Louis’ cheek, bringing him closer for another soft, tender moment. When he pulls away, their breath remains mingling in the cool air.

“See you tomorrow, yeah?” Harry says quietly.

“Yeah.”

Harry kisses him gently on the cheek and opens the door to his apartment.

“Goodnight,” he says, and closes the door.

Louis grins and brings a hand up to touch his lips. He walks down the path to his car feeling lighter than before, the feeling of Harry’s kiss lingering on his lips long after he’s driven away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it's been so long. Two months. My mental health had taken a nose dive and school was hell but I'm back on my feet now. My plan is to finish this by August. Happy summer!

Zayn and Dakota’s apartment welcomes Harry with open arms. He settles on their couch with only half a bottle of beer. Dakota had poured some into their glass and is happily sipping on their end of the couch. Harry had playfully glared, but he didn’t mind.

Zayn returns to the couch with a bowl of crackers and settles beside Dakota. He gives them a smile and drops a kiss on their nose. Harry looks away, suddenly feeling intrusive. He clears his throat to remind the two of them he’s there and takes another sip if his drink.

“ _Sorry_ ,” Zayn mouths.

Harry just smiles. His affection towards Dakota is nothing that requires an apology.

“How was your date?” Dakota asks. Their smile is bright; curious. Harry can’t help but grin back.

“So good. Louis is so cute.” He lowers his voice to a whisper as he continues on, almost as if it won’t be as real if he says it louder. “I’m going to fall for him.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “That’s big, Harry.”

Dakota has a different approach.

“How did you know?” they ask. “Oh, that’s adorable! I’m happy for you, H.”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, trying to be appreciative for their support and thoughtful at the same time. He’s never been good at making non-impulsive decisions, and he’s afraid Louis will be one of them.

“Just a feeling?” Dakota asks.

Harry nods. “Yeah. He makes me happy, makes me look forward to teaching that shitty art class and makes me feel like I want to paint again. And, uh. We kissed.”

Dakota’s eyes bulge. “Excuse me?”

“We kissed,” Harry repeats. “And I liked it.”

Dakota opens their mouth to speak, but Zayn speaks first.

“Don’t rush it, yeah? Louis’ so young, and you’re a struggling artist. Just struggling in general, really. This could be something good like me and Kota—” His affectionate nickname for Dakota makes Harry smile briefly “—or it could end in broken hearts. You know how kids are when it comes to relationships. Need I remind you of Jen when you were sixteen? She destroyed you, and you didn’t do much better.”

“I know.”

Harry hangs his head, ashamed of the memories. Jen was toxic, and with her, so was he. It took him ages to finally get the courage to realize they were no good for each other, and by the time he broke it off, his heart was shattered with the pain she had inflicted.

Sometimes he still feels it when looking at the drawings he had done at the time, still aches deep in his core.

“I’m a different person than I was then,” Harry says. “It’s been years. I’m not—I’m not like that anymore, Zayn, and you know it.”

“I know. But you’re still sad. And sadness is damaging.”

“My sadness makes my art.”

Zayn sighs. “I wish it didn’t make all of it.”

“It doesn’t. Whenever I think of Louis I paint happy things. I started using colour again, and not just dark blues and greens and reds around the edges. I’m talking about pastels and vibrant pinks. When was the last time I did that?”

Dakota lays a gentle hand on Zayn’s arm. “We’re not going to intervene. I trust you, Harry, and I know Zayn does too. He’s just looking out for you.”

“And I appreciate it, but I don’t always need it.”

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Zayn says.

Harry reaches for his hand and squeezes. When he lets it go, he almost regrets it, but he doesn’t reach for Zayn again.

“I know that Louis is young and that I’m in the midst of trying to create a career. It’s only casual right now, we’re only just seeing each other. Let it build a little before you start declaring a disastrous fate, okay?”

Zayn relents. “Okay. I’ll back off.”

Dakota kisses him on the cheek. They flash him a soft smile Harry has only ever see them show Zayn, and he feels the sense of intrusion again.

Harry stifles a yawn. “It’s getting late. I’m good head back to my place and feed Cookie, paint for a bit.”

“Goodnight, H,” Zayn says. He doesn’t move away from Dakota to hug him goodbye, but he holds out his hand for a gentle squeeze. Dakota does the same.

Back at his place, Cookie greets him by the door, meowing softly for his attention. He kisses her gently on the nose and fills her bowl will food, even offering her a piece of cheese to make up for his absence.

While he paints, she lays curled on his lap, sleeping peacefully. Tongue poked out between his lips, he scratches the top of her head and dips his paintbrush into a cup of water with his free hand. Cookie hums in her sleep and nuzzles his thigh. Harry smiles.

His first line is harsh, thick and navy blue in the centre of the page. The next is gentler, pale pink swirling out from every corner of the page. He isn’t sure of what he’s painting, if it really means anything at all or if it’s just a mirage of colour, but he likes it.

Somewhere after one, he starts to notice a definition of a shape in the middle of the page. Slowly, he eyes the sharp lines and what he could create with them. With a soft green, he outlines a head, and then with the pale pink, he carefully paints in the centre. Blues and yellows are thrown in the centre without precision but with carefulness. Colours fill the canvas, swirls and shapes and sharp lines until he’s finished.

Siting back on the stool, he allows himself to smile. There, in the centre, is Louis, painted from memory. Harry thinks it’s the face Louis made when they first made eye contact, because he will never forget the look of amazement on Louis’ face and the way his cheeks became flushed. He was so beautiful that day, and Harry was so mesmerized.

He gently nudges Cookie, getting her to look up at the painting. She blinks sleepily, reminding Harry that it’s nearing three in the morning and he has work tomorrow. Fuck it. He’ll call in sick.

“What do you think, Cookie?” he murmurs. She blinks. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he? And he’s so sweet. You think we should keep him around?”

She meows softly and licks the back of his hand.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Harry lifted her up into his arms and flipped off the light. “Come on, let’s get to bed.”

She curls up on his pillow, cold nose pressed to his forehead. She falls asleep instantly, and with the soothing sound of her purring, so does Harry.

 

-

“Harry!”

He twists at the sound of Louis’ voice. He can’t help but smile when he sees him, hands full with styrofoam coffee cups and a bag of muffins.

“I missed you yesterday,” Louis goes on, taking a seat beside him.

The art room is empty this time of morning, leaving the two of them alone to talk. Harry won’t admit it, but he missed him too. A day away from their typical routine of seeing each other on school days threw him.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Harry says, taking a sip.

“You’re welcome.”

Louis smiles happily. He hesitates a second, but then he leans forward and kisses Harry on the cheek. He has to fight to hide his blush, ducking his head out of Louis’ view for a moment.

“Class was so boring without you,” Louis continues. “I like Ms. Morton but she her method of teaching is so boring. Besides, she’s not cute like you.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Where’s all this confidence coming from?”

“Caffeine,” Louis says. “Niall says it makes me talkative.”

“He’s right.” Harry can’t help but giggle. He feels a disgustingly fond expression take over his features, but he doesn’t try to hide it this time.

“Ms. Morton said you were sick,” Louis says.

Harry hesitates. “I—I just needed some time. I had stayed up really late painting and Zayn and I were talking about some heavy stuff. I wasn’t feeling my best but I’m okay now.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Louis clearly doesn’t know what to say, but it’s just as well. Harry doesn’t know what he wants to hear.

“It’s okay.” Harry forces a smile, suddenly aware of a thick tension settling in the air. He cringes inwardly.

“When can we get together again?” Louis asks. If he wasn’t buzzing from caffeine, Harry knows he would have hinted at it rather than say it so bluntly.

Harry doesn’t answer right away, and Louis’ face falls.

“Sorry, I know I’m being over the top right now,” he says. He stands, grabbing his things, and Harry sighs. He wants him to stay, but he doesn’t have the words. It’s easier to let him go than admit that he is scared, especially after the talk he and Zayn had.

“It’s okay,” Harry says. It’s nothing near as good as Louis deserves to hear, and he wants to take it back, but he can’t. “I’ll call you soon, we’ll figure something out. I’m sorry. I just haven’t been feeling like myself.”

Louis slings his bag over his shoulder, moving to the door. “Don’t worry about it. See you in art. I look forward to what you’ll be teaching.”

And just like that, he’s gone. The only evidence that he was there at all are the drops of coffee he spilt on the table and the ache in Harry’s heart the only Louis is able to cause.

Sighing, Harry picks up a paintbrush.

 

-

Harry goes to Zayn and Dakota’s apartment after work. This has become a new routine, having dinner at theirs and having a few drinks before going home when he finally remembers he forgot to feed Cookie.

Tonight is different.

When he arrives, Zayn and Dakota are cooking. They never cook. He has never seen either of them cook the entire time he’s known them. There is also no alcohol in sight, and judging by the way their words aren’t slurred together or by the sharp movements of their bodies, there hasn’t been any all evening.

Harry pulls up a chair and plunks down.

Dakota glances at him and snorts. “You look like shit.”

“I had a long day,” he says. “Louis and I had a weird conversation in the morning and then we didn’t talk at all in class. I can’t tell if he’s upset with me or not.”

Zayn groans. “You are terrible at relationships.”

“Zayn!” Dakota snaps. They smack him on the shoulder lightly before turning back to Harry. “Ignore him, he’s just full of shit. What happened?”

“I accidentally blew him off. He asked if we could spend time together and I took too long to answer and he thought I didn’t want to be around him and I think I hurt his feelings.”

Zayn blinks at him. “I can’t believe you care so much. It’s actually astounding.”

Harry flips him off.

“It’s was an accident. Just talk to him about it,” Dakota says. “I’m sure it’ll be no big deal.”

“That’s the part I’m not so sure about,” Harry admits. He scratches the back of his head mindlessly, fingers tangling at the ringlets by his nape as he thinks of a good way to describe it to them. “I guess I got scared. I kept thinking about what you said about Jen, Zayn, and I didn’t want to make the same mistakes. I got caught up in my own head. I didn’t mean to make him upset, no, but I think I meant to not say yes to hanging out. I don’t know.”

“You gotta figure your shit out, man,” Zayn says. “Clearly he isn’t Jen. He sounds like a sweet kid, and I think that’s what you’re afraid of, not that he’ll turn out to be an asshole the way she did. He’s just a kid, and you’re in your twenties, and I think you’re afraid of hurting him.”

“I think Zayn’s right,” Dakota interjects. “And it’s rational, but I think you should let go of it. Don’t go out and deliberately crush him, but go and take a chance. If it fails then it fails, but don’t let being scared make you miss out on something good.”

Harry smiles softly. “You’re right.”

“I know.” Dakota ruffles his hair. They reach into the cabinet above his head for a bottle of wine and hand it to him. “Here, you can have this. Couch is all yours.”

“I’m not going to drink that much,” Harry insists.

Dakota rolls their eyes.

Two hours later, Harry is passed out on their couch. No one has the heart to wake him, and so he doesn’t go home that night. Zayn covers him with a blanket and drags Dakota to bed, leaving Harry on the couch to collect drool and snore.

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Dinner and drinks tonight at 7? It’s on me. Zayn and Dakota are coming, so you should bring Niall and anyone else you want. See you later. Wear something nice xx._

“Nice” means a button up denim t-shirt and a pair of dark wash skinny jeans because Louis is a college student on a budget, and he doesn’t want to look too overdressed or underdressed. This seemed like the perfect middle.

Harry knows he doesn’t drink, so he’s pleased to see a glass of water at what he presumes to be his seat when he arrives. He’s also tastefully placed to Harry, who gives a shy smile when Louis plunks down on the stool and their arms brush. The naked skin on skin contact sends a shiver down Louis’ spine.

“Hey, Louis,” Zayn says, shooting him a smile. He jerks his head towards Niall and Liam, who happily joined him (he’s sure Liam only said yes to keep an eye on Harry). “Who’s this?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Louis blushes. He isn’t sure why, but he feels embarrassed. “This is Niall and Liam. We go to university together.”

Zayn tenses briefly at the mention of uni, and Louis momentarily wonders if he has as much of a problem with the age difference as Liam does.

“Nice to meet you,” Dakota says, smoothing over the tension. They’re good at that, Louis has noticed, and it’s one of the reasons he loves them.

“This is Dakota. _They_ are my partner.” Zayn puts extra emphasis on their pronouns and gives Niall and Liam stern looks. Louis prays they’ve caught on so that Zayn doesn’t strangle them.

There is silence for a minute, and Louis holds his breath, tense.

“How did you guys meet?” Liam finally asks, and Louis is relieved.

Zayn seems to be, too, and Louis guesses it’s because he doesn’t have to kill anyone tonight. Yet.

“We met at college,” Dakota says. “He sat beside me in our poetry class our second year and that was it, I guess. Must have been, because four years later, here we are.”

“Yeah, I fell for them right then and there.” Zayn presses a smiling kiss to their cheek. “I didn’t even like poetry at first, I just took it for my literacy credit. But Dakota made me enjoy it.”

Louis hums. “Just like me with art.”

“What?” Harry’s cheeks are pink, and Louis knows he heard, but that he wants to hear it again.

Despite the ego inflation he knows it will create, Louis repeats himself. Niall did say to go outside his comfort zone.

Louder than before, he says, “That’s like me with my art class. I pretty much only took it to complete my arts credit but Harry made me stay.”

Liam actually smiles, and surprisingly, so does Zayn.

Under the table, Harry squeezes his thigh. Louis runs his fingers over the back of his hand and they share a small, private smile.

Niall clears his throat.

“What do you do, Zayn?” he asks.

“I work at a hardware store,” he says.

“I work at Sephora,” Dakota interjects. “I’d go on about makeup, but I’m sure none of you boys would want to hear about it.”

Louis is about to say something about internalized gender roles, but Liam beats him to it.

“I actually like makeup, Dakota.” He leans in closer to them so they can look at his face. “I think I did alright on my under eye concealer, don’t you think?”

Dakota beams. “You did, it looks great. Oh, this makes me happy, you have no idea. I finally have someone other than my colleagues to talk makeup with.”

“If I’m not careful you’re gonna steal them from me, eh, Liam?” Zayn forces a laugh, but Louis catches the jealousy behind it. Liam recoils, so he must, too.

Sensing the tension, Niall (bless him, truly) slams his fist on the table. “Let’s get more drinks, who’s with me?”

“Me,” Harry says, who’s been abnormally quiet all night. “Let’s go order some.”

He makes a move to leave, but Louis grabs his shirt, suddenly scared.

“Lou?” Harry asks. He realizes he hasn’t spoken in at least a minute.

“I’m sorry, I—” He stops. Niall said to be more honest. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

Harry makes a face, one that says, _“aw, baby”_ and relaxes into his chair.

“I’m not leaving,” he says.

“Who’s coming with me?” Niall asks again, feigning disappointment. Louis can see the hint of a smile on his face, but he can’t tell if it’s out of sympathy or out of pride. Pride for speaking up, sympathy for the anxiety that suddenly choked him. Maybe a bit of both.

Dakota raises their hand. “I’ll go.”

“Thank you,” Niall responds, indignant.

Zayn snorts. “I like him. I like him a lot.”

Niall laughs.

Dakota hops off their chair and links arms with Niall.

“Come on, let’s go get shots,” they say.

“Get a bottle of water for Louis! No shots for him!” Harry calls after them.

Niall turns and gives him a thumbs up.

“Not a big drinker, Louis?” Zayn asks.

He isn’t sure if he’s just trying to make conversation or if Harry genuinely hasn’t told him, so he says, “No, I don’t. I’m seventeen, so. Doesn’t seem smart.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Harry said your birthday is in December. That’s, like, two months away. It’s not going to make a difference.”

“I know, but. I just don’t want to. It’s not for me.”

“Have you ever tried—”

“Lay off, yeah?” Harry interjects. “He doesn’t have to drink.”

“Right.” Zayn rubs his cheeks. “I’m starting to feel shitfaced. Maybe I should stick to water, that’d be something.”

Liam chuckled. “I’m starting to agree with you, man. I’m tired of cleaning up the messes drunk people leave at my parties.”

“Ah, the party days,” Zayn hums. “I remember those. Harry and Dakota never went to them but I did. I was the life of the party. I was the one getting pissed drunk and doing body shots and dancing on tables.”

“And Dakota was okay with that?” Liam asks, suddenly on alert.

“Yeah. I never messed around with anyone else, unless you could people drinking tequila out of my belly button.” Zayn laughs. “But I always told them, you’re my person and I love you. Drunk me loved body shots, but drunk me also loved Dakota.”

Liam relaxes. “Sounds like you really care about them.”

“I do,” Zayn says. “But if you want to come over and do makeup with them then do it. I’m not going to be offended. Dakota loves me right back, and I have no problems with other boys or girls coming around.”

“That’s not—”

“I’m sure it isn’t. I just wanted to say.”

As their conversation continues, Harry leans into Louis, reaching for his hand. The warmth of his palm engulfs Louis’, fingers intertwining under the table.

“You wanna get out of here?” Harry asks.

Louis breathes out a sigh of relief. “Am I that obvious?”

“Sometimes. You just look uncomfortable,” Harry says. “We could go to mine, watch a movie. I rented this paranormal film. Zayn, Dakota, and I were going to watch it but then they’d cuddle up to someone and I’d be left with a pillow, so I’d rather watch it with you.”

“You get scared easily?” he asks.

“Sometimes. When I think about you.”

Louis opens his mouth to ask what that means, but Harry is already standing. Louis’ hand falls to his side, cold and empty without Harry’s in his.

“We’re gonna head out,” Harry tells Zayn. “We’re both tired and I wanna watch that movie we rented before it expires.”

“Can you tell Niall that I’m going to stay over at Harry’s?” Louis asks.

He has to pause, because they didn’t talk about a sleepover. He remembers the first time his mum’s boyfriend slept over and how much of a big deal she made it out to be when she was chatting to her friend on the phone the next day. Maybe Harry isn’t ready for that. He shouldn’t have spoken, he shouldn’t have spoken, he shouldn’t have—

“And tell Niall that I’ll be making Louis breakfast in the morning, so he can brave the dorm cafeteria by himself,” Harry says, interrupting his thoughts.

Louis relaxes, allowing himself to smile. Despite Liam and Zayn being right there, he leans over to kiss him gently on the cheek.

“Let’s get out of here.”

 

-

Louis has never been in Harry’s bedroom before. The walls are a pale beige, artfully splattered with rainbow coloured paints.

“That’s cool.” Louis points to the splatters.

“Thanks. I didn’t love the colour of my room but I didn’t want to paint over it, so I just flicked paint everywhere. Zayn and Dakota were up visiting his mum for the weekend and I was lonely so this is what I did.”

Louis nods.

As Harry loads the film, Louis takes a minute to look around his room. An LGBTQA+ flag hangs on the wall, centred in the middle of buttons that appear to be flags for different sexualities and gender identities. A few cardstock notes are pinned underneath. It feels wrong to read them, so Louis turns away.

“They’re from this job I had teaching art at a summer camp for LGBT youth,” Harry says, startling Louis from his thoughts.

Harry is laying on his bed now. His shirt is off and his pajama bottoms are hanging low on his hips. Louis wonders when he changed. His cheeks turn pink at the sight of Harry half naked and is suddenly very aware of the fact that he doesn’t have any pajama pants.

Harry notices his discomfort.

“My pajamas are in the drawer over there.” He points to his dresser. “Second drawer. Wear anything you want.”

Louis surveys the clothes for too long, deciding on what’s appropriate. He almost reaches for a pair of pants, but then decides against it. Harry is half undressed. It’d be weird for him to be, too. He curses anxiety and slams the dresser.

He can feel Harry’s eyes on him as he undresses. Slowly, he reaches for the shirt Harry discarded from early. It’s a plain grey t-shirt, probably the only plain one Harry owns without paint stains.

He turns around, offering a shaky smile.

“It smells like you,” he supplies when he notices the odd look Harry is giving him.

Harry’s eyes soften.

“Come here,” he says. His arms are open, beckoning him over.

As Louis crawls into bed, Harry flicks off the lamp. The only light in the room is emitting from the small TV on Harry’s nightstand. Harry’s arms wind around him after a moment, and Louis rests his hand on his chest. Harry’s skin his warm. He wants to feel it under his cheek, hear his heart beat. So taking the dance, he lets his head drop to his chest.

After a few moments of silence, Louis says, “You can start the film now.”

“Oh. Right.”

Harry laughs a bit, but it sounds just as nervous as Louis feels.

As the movie plays, Louis feels the erratic _thump, thump, thump_ of Harry’s heart and wonders if it’s from the movie or from him. He guesses the first one, but he wants to believe it’s him.

As the movie drags on, repeats of the same hauntings happening over and over, Harry rolls onto his side. Aware of his eyes on him, Louis turns his head. Harry’s hands slide up under his shirt, fingers dancing up and down his ribs.

Louis’ breath hitches, stomach jumping under Harry’s touch.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m ticklish,” Louis says.

Harry laughs. “You’re cute.”

Louis goes to protest, but Harry pulls him in for a kiss, silencing him. They kiss gently for a bit, soft, lingering pecks that make Louis’ lips tingle when Harry pulls away.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

Louis nods. His heart is beating quickly with what he can’t tell to be anxiety or nerves. Probably both.

Harry’s tongue gently touches his bottom lip, and Louis parts his lips. He tries to match Harry’s speed, the way he’s kissing, trying to touch his face the way Harry is touching his, but he can’t think over the way the blood is rushing in his ears.

Why is he so nervous? Sure, Harry is beautiful, and talented, and kind, and he’s years older than him and—Okay, so he knows why he’s so nervous.

Harry goes to pull off his shirt, shifting to hover over him, but Louis pulls back.

“Can we sleep?” he asks. “I’m sorry, I’m just suddenly really tired.”

The film has returned to the title screen, playing the same clips of an exorcism and dishes flying everywhere.

“Sure, yeah. Sleep sounds good. I’m tired, too.” Harry flicks off the TV and the room is engulfed in blackness. The absence of light hides the worried expression on his face.

Louis rolls onto his side, back facing Harry. He realizes that comes off as an invitation to spoon when Harry curls up close to him and wraps him up in his arms, but that isn’t what he intended.

He had turned away because he can’t bear to see Harry’s face. Harry may be a struggling artist, but he’s got a degree. He has a job, he’s had other work experience. He has his own place and his own money and his own cat, and Louis goes to uni and lives in a dorm room and hasn’t done anything sexually like Harry clearly has.

His heart rate picks up. He’s suddenly scared. Scared that he isn’t good enough, scared he can never be or do enough for Harry because in his mind, Harry deserves the world.

He wants to go home. Home to Niall and their dorm room, where he can’t be a disappointment.

Long after Harry falls asleep, Louis untangles himself from his arms, careful not to wake him. He leaves a note on the dresser and dresses in his clothes from earlier, leaving Harry’s t-shirt on the nightstand beside the TV.

He kisses Harry on the forehead and slips out, whispering an apology into the air.

 

-

When Harry wakes, he’s cold and confused. He reaches for Louis, but he’s nowhere to be found. Then he notices the note taped to his forehead, and he peels it off and reads.

It’s in Louis’ handwriting.

_Harry,_

_I’m sorry that you’re waking up alone. I started to feel anxious, so I thought it was best to go home. I called Niall and he picked me up._

_Thanks for understanding,_

_Louis xx_

Harry tosses the note to the floor and drops his head to the pillow. He lets out a sigh, wondering where he went wrong.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun beams streaming through the window leave Louis dazed. At first he is surprised to see the dull walls of his dorm room instead of the colourful walls of Harry’s room, but then he remembers he came home in the middle of the night and relaxes against the pillows, no longer startled.

He glances over at Niall, who is sitting on his bed, watching the TV with the sound on low. Louis checks his own phone, surprised to see that it’s well after eleven. He hasn’t slept this late in a while.

Briefly his mind flickers to Harry. What if he hates him for going home like that? What if he, too, has realized how little Louis has to offer and rejects him? What if—

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Niall says, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Mm. Morning.” Louis rolls to his side, blocking the sunlight from his eyes with his arm. “I’m starving. What do we have in this dorm room that I can eat?”

“Unless you want milkless tea and dry cereal, nothing.” Niall chucks the remote to the side and says, “Can you go to the store and get some milk? And some instant noodles and a few frozen pizzas? Thanks.”

“Why can’t you do it? You’ve been awake longer than me.”

“Because I got up at one to pick you up from your boyfriend’s apartment.”

Louis frowns. “He isn’t my boyfriend. And that isn’t fair, I was anxious. You said that I could always call you, I thought—”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I was kidding,” Niall says seriously, cautiously. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You can call me anytime, I meant it when I said that.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to overreact. I’m just—yesterday was a bad night, and I’m still spinning from it.”

Niall holds up his hand. “No need to explain. I get it. But if you want to talk about it—”

“No, I’m fine.” Louis shakes his head. “I’ll go to the store. You did it last time, anyway.”

“Are you sure?” Niall asks. “Because I can go.”

“I’m sure,” Louis affirms. “It’s only fair.”

Niall seems skeptical, but nods. He reaches into his bedside table and tosses Louis their student card and some cash.

“Good luck. Text me when you’re on the way back so I don’t worry too much, okay?” Niall says.

“I will, I promise.”

Louis rolls out of bed and reaches for a pair of discarded sweat pants and a t-shirt. He realizes that it’s Niall’s Backstreet Boy’s concert shirt from his younger days, but he doesn’t bother to change.

“It looks better on me,” Niall says, pointing to the shirt.

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’ll see you later.”

He grabs his wallet and the money scattered on the bed. He shoves his feet into a battered pair of Converse he’s had for years. He ought to replace them with something nicer, but university fees and living alone don’t make room for fancy new shoes, or even something moderately stylish.

The weather has become more November-like, cool air nipping at Louis’ nose and cheeks. He tucks his hands in his pockets and wished he had remembered a sweater. Almost all of his have holes.

He sighs.

Automatic doors of the grocery store blow up his hair, wispy strands falling into his eyes. He pushes them back and reaches for a hand basket, making his way to the dairy aisle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of short, black hair and quickly turns around. He can’t let Dakota see him, not yet. What if they’re angry, or upset, or ready to hit him in Harry’s honour? Niall would say he’s reading into it too much, overthinking, but he can’t stop.

Louis reads each label on the milk cartons, wasting time as he waits for Dakota to leave the aisle. Minutes creep by and they still haven’t left, and Louis is running out of labels to read. He puts a carton in his basket and reaches for a tub of margarine to inspect instead, but it slips out of his hand and smashes to the floor. The plastic cracks and margarine splatters everywhere.

“Fuck!” Louis shouts.

Dakota looks up. “Louis? Are you okay?”

“Fuck,” Louis says again, cheeks turning pink. He can feel the heat in his ears, too. “I’m so sorry, it was an accident.”

He isn’t sure if he’s talking about the spilt margarine or leaving Harry alone. The guilt for ditching and the embarrassment for dropping things are competing, and he can’t tell who the winner is. His brain is too clouded, too many things going on for him to differentiate between causes of his anxiety.

He reminds himself to breathe. In and out. In and out.

“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Dakota says. “Someone will swing by and clean it. No big deal, it happens to everyone. Don’t stress.”

They sound so kind. Maybe they don’t hate him. Maybe Harry doesn’t either. Louis lets himself smile, though only for a second.

“Thanks.”

Dakota nods.

“I’m glad you made it home safely. Harry was worried about you.”

Louis blanches. Worry, not hatred? Niall was right, that Harry would be understanding.

“He was?” Louis asks. He wants to hear it again, wants to hear Dakota tell him that Harry cares because fuck if he needs that sometimes. Niall isn’t always enough.

“Yeah,” Dakota says. “He woke up to a note on his forehead and you were nowhere to be found. He wanted to call but he was afraid he did something wrong. I told him you were probably just anxious and that Niall was more than likely taking care of you but that didn’t stop him from worrying.”

“So he’s not mad at me for leaving?”

Dakota lifts their eyebrows, bewildered. “Angry? Lou, no. He was just concerned, thought he caused it. He’d never be angry for you getting anxious and wanting to go home. That’s what happened, right?”

Louis nods.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dakota continues. “Why don’t you come by? He’d love to see you, and maybe a little reassurance would help you not worry so much.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think that’d be nice,” Louis agrees.

Dakota places their hand on his back and guides him out of the aisle.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“I gotta buy this first,” Loui says. He gestures to the milk in his cart that rests on top of the ready-made meals Niall requested.

Dakota takes the basket from him. “I’ll take care of it.”

“No, Dakota, you don’t have to do that,” Louis protests. He reaches for the basket back but they pull it out of his reach.

“Hush, I want to. You make Harry happy, take it as a token of my appreciation for bringing the light back to his eyes,” Dakota says. They pass him their keys. “Go wait in my car. I’ll meet you there.”

“You’re sure?” Louis asks.

They nod. “More than sure. Go on, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Reluctantly, Louis takes their keys. Dakota’s car is a challenge to find, but he locates it in the far end of the parking lot. He drums his fingers against the dashboard, eagerly awaiting Dakota’s return.

When they slip into the car with a purse and a bag of groceries, Louis is tapping a rhythm on his thigh. Dakota laughs and turns the key, backing out of the parking lot.

“Do me a favour and text Harry, tell him to get dressed,” Dakota says. “He’s in his pajamas and painting and he hasn’t eaten yet.”

Louis’ eyebrows furrow. “Is he okay?”

“He’s just lazy. Text him, will you?”

Louis tugs his phone free from his pocket and sends a text to Harry. He backspaces a few times, pausing to find the perfect words, and Dakota finally snaps their fingers.

“This isn’t an essay,” they say. “Just send him a text. Perfection isn’t needed.”

Louis scowls and sinks back into his seat. He presses send without triple checking the text, swallowing town the twinge of fear. He will not worry about pointless things. He will not.

_“Hey, H. Dakota says to get dressed, we’re on our way back. “We” because Dakota is bringing me with them, says it’d be good to see each other. Hope that’s okay… see you soon.”_

A second later, his phone dings with a reply.

_“Louis, I’m painting.”_

_“I know, but… I wanted to talk about last night. Dakota said it’d be good for us, and I trust them. If you don’t want me over I understand, I get that I’m a fuck up but I just thought that maybe you’d want to make up, too.”_

_“Hey, hey, that’s not what I meant. Fuck. Louis, I’m sorry. Come over. Please. I want to see you. I really do.”_

Louis can’t bring himself to reply. His mind is empty, without things to say. Instead, he’s thinking about how to explain how he was feeling to Harry, why he just left. He presses his cheek against the window and shuts his eyes. He will not let self-deprecating thoughts take over.

He must have nodded off, because when Dakota nudges him, he feels groggy. He rubs his eyes with his fists, stifling a yawn in his sleeve.

“You were out for a good twenty minutes,” Dakota says. “I didn’t have the heart to wake you so you could answer your phone. It was going off like crazy.”

“Oh.” Louis blushes, wonders if they read any of the messages.

“Don’t worry about it, I didn’t look,” they say, as if reading his thoughts. They turn off the car and flick the lock on their door. “Come on, we’re home.”

Louis wonders how Dakota can say home so casually in front of him, as if he means something to their small apartment with Zayn that Harry lives at more than his own. He wants to think he matters, that he brings something to Harry’s life, to Dakota’s or Zayn’s, but he can’t think past the looming cloud of doubt that insistently says he isn’t good enough. He doesn’t know how to shake it, no matter how much he tries.

Louis might not ever be good enough for Harry, and it breaks his heart more than anything else he’s ever felt.

He scrubs his face with his hands and throws open the car door. He closes it a bit too hard and grimaces, quick to apologize. Dakota shrugs it off and hands him a grocery bag.

“Everything you asked for,” they say.

Louis smiles gratefully. “Thank you again. Truly. You’re so kind.”

Dakota gently kisses him on the cheek. “It was the least I could have done. Come on, Harry’s eagerly waiting.”

Louis scoffs, but follows them into the building.

“I doubt that’s true,” he says.

“No, it is,” Dakota replies certainly. “You make him light up like Zayn and I haven’t seen in years. He always wants you around, even when he’s too stubborn to admit it.”

Louis smiles again. He finds himself doing that a lot when Harry’s around, even just thinking about him.

The door to the art room is ajar when Louis’ enters the apartment. Soft music is playing from inside, classical medleys. Louis images Harry painting to the rhythms, pretty patterns and swirls in bright colours. The pit of his stomach warms at the thought of it.

Rolling his shoulders back, Louis pushes the door open.

Harry is sprawled out on the couch that he keeps shoved against the back wall, limbs strewn over the top and sides. He’s typing away on his laptop and hasn’t noticed Louis yet. A painting is drying on an easel, bright like Louis imagined. He hides a smile in his palm.

Finally, Harry looks up. His eyes light up like Dakota said they would, and Louis feels warmth creeping up his spine. He holds onto the feeling, relishing it.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

Harry closes his laptop and sets it on the floor, pushing it out of the way. He pushes himself up on the couch, patting the space beside him. Louis gets the hint and settles in, slinging his arm over the back of the couch.

“It’s good to see you,” Harry says.

It sounds too similar to “thank you for coming”, too formal. Louis can’t stand it.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he says.

Harry shakes his head. “Doesn’t have to be.”

It’s silent for a moment. Louis stares at his lap, picking at a loose thread on the couch. Harry reaches for his hand, stopping him. Louis goes to pull away, but Harry laces their fingers, refusing to let him go.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

“No.” Louis shakes his head, but not confidently.

Harry sighs. “It’s just—you just walked out in the middle of the night. I know you get anxious about stuff but I thought I did something to make you leave. Did I come on too strong? Did you feel pressured? Because if I did, I’m so, so sorry.”

“It was nothing like that,” Louis says. “I had really bad anxiety. I called Niall, he came and got me. I didn’t—I didn’t go home by myself. I was safe.”

“I was so worried about you,” Harry admits. “I thought I fucked it all up.”

“No, no,” Louis says insistently. “I’m—Sometimes I’m afraid. I feel so much and I don’t know how to feel it without getting anxious and I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry.”

“Louis, I—” Harry pauses, shakes his head. He reaches for Louis, pulls him in for a hug. They stay like that for a while, rocking back and forth on the couch. Louis doesn’t let himself cry, no matter how many tears prick the back of his eyelids.

Harry pulls back and cups his cheeks, wiping away his tears. Louis pouts, because he meant to hold them in.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Harry shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, wiping away falling tears from each other’s cheeks. Louis wonders what Niall would say if he could see them. Maybe that’s his problem: always worrying what others think of him.

Eventually, Louis speaks.

“You wanna dance?”

Harry looks at him incredulously for a moment, but then his bewildered look turns into a smile. He nods, pulling Louis to his feet. He pulls Louis close by his waist, fingers locking in the small of his back. Louis’ arms wrap around his neck, bringing them nose to nose.

Harry’s lips touch his as they sway, gentle kisses that bring Louis alive. He presses closer, delicately pushing his tongue past Harry’s lips. Harry’s hands wander up his shirt, tracing his spine with his fingertips and sending a chill through Louis’ body.

For a brief second he hesitates, because what is he doing? Instigating more than innocent kisses, letting himself be touched skin to skin on places where he has scars. He doesn’t dance. Yet he finds himself enjoying what they’re doing and snuggles in closer, hands coming up to cup his cheeks.

Harry’s wandering hands make him melt, make him relax. He hasn’t felt this at ease with someone’s hands on his bare skin in forever. He sighs.

 _Louis loves him_.

He jumps, surprised by his own thoughts and the blaring clock bell sounds coming from his phone.

“Ignore it,” Harry says, pulling him back.

Louis shakes him off.

“It’s my Niall ringtone, I need to answer it,” he says.

Harry nuzzles his face into Louis’ neck, holding him around his waist as he presses the phone to his ear. Louis lets him, hungry for affection. _Harry’s_ affection. He’s never felt so strongly for anyone in his life.

“Louis, where the fuck are you?” Niall demands. He sounds out of breath. “You said you’d call me and you never did. You’ve been gone for hours. I’m worried out of my fucking mind, I thought something had happened to you.”

Louis tenses. Harry wraps his arms around him tighter, feeling Louis’ guilt.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I went to Harry’s and I forgot to call. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“You’re safe?” Niall asks.

“He’s with me, it’s okay,” Harry speaks up.

Louis didn’t realize he was close enough to overhear. He shoots Harry a grateful smile and plants a shy kiss on his forehead.

“Will you be home soon?” Niall asks.

“I’m leaving now,” Louis says.

He pulls away from Harry gently and gives him an apologetic smile. Harry sighs but nods, kissing him on the cheek.

_Louis loves him._

“I’ll see you soon,” Niall says and hangs up without waiting for a reply.

“I’ll see you in class.” Harry kisses him; a soft, lingering peck that makes Louis sigh.

He nods. “See you.”

He looks into Harry’s eyes for a moment and can’t tell what he sees. Suddenly he feels scared. What if Harry doesn’t love him back? He’s never loved anyone before—he doesn’t know how to love Harry. He’s going to fuck it up, he knows it.

He gathers his things quickly and ventures out into the cold air. He doesn’t look back once. Even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to look past the wall of his own fear.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Louis won’t ever get used to cafeteria food.

Bland and rubbery food tossed on mold coloured trays that cost way too much for what’s given. But still, Louis bought it. Maybe because the discolouration or the smell reminded him of the cheap takeout his mum brought home Friday nights when she’d work the night shift. She would wake him just after twelve when she’d get home and they would watch late night talk shows together, eating and talking. After, they would go back to ignoring each other most of the week, until Friday rolled around again and they’d have their time together.

Louis misses home.

He misses his sisters and Friday nights with his mum. He even misses his mum’s boyfriends, the ones that came by every weekend and Wednesdays for a month or two and then never came back. She only had one boyfriend last more than a few weeks. He lasted years. Thirteen of them. He was the only one who ever stayed overnight, and she married him. He got four sisters and a dad out of the time, and he even got Saturday mornings with his mum because he made it so she didn’t have to work so much.

Then he left, and his mum was too busy with the girls and two jobs for Saturday mornings or Friday nights. So Louis left for university, moved as far away from his hometown as his credentials and GPA would allow him. He calls for his sisters sometimes during the week, when time allows him. But he only calls his mum Friday nights after twelve, every three weeks, for tradition’s sake.

He wonders when he’ll stop calling. If it’ll be all at once, or dwindle down to once every two months, and then three, and then four, until it stops all together.

Louis sighs and drops his stained, plastic spoon to his tray.

“I’m in love with Harry,” he announces.

He hears Liam choke. Niall’s head snaps up faster than a dog’s when they hear food. They both stare at him like he has an extra eye in between his brows.

He says it again.

“I’m in love with Harry.”

“We heard you,” Liam snaps.

Louis recoils. “What are you yelling at me for? I can’t help it if I love him.”

“Stop saying that,” Liam says gruffly. “He’s fucking four years older than you.”

“You’ve met him, you know that he likes me!” Louis shouts. He doesn’t stop to take in what he said, that he admitted, even in the heat of the moment, that he was worth someone’s affection. He doesn’t see the way Niall’s eyes light up, just for a moment.

“Louis,” Liam begins, tone gentler than before. “I’m just—I guess I’m just worried that he’s going to pressure you into things you don’t want. That he doesn’t really care about you. I’m just concerned. He’s so much older than you, more experienced. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

Louis looks at Niall and nods his head.

Niall says, “We can’t worry about that. A person has the power to hurt anyone. And yes, Louis could get hurt, but it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. So, Liam, thank you for your concern. Really. I know Louis appreciates it and I do, too, as his best friend. But I think we’ve done enough meddling. He says he loves Harry. Let’s let him love Harry.”

Louis smiles at Niall, blushing furiously. His stomach warms with love and appreciation. He wants to give Niall a hug and maybe even a kiss on the forehead, but then he remembers they’re in the middle of the cafeteria and stops himself.

“I’ve been skipping art,” Louis says. “If I go I only go the days Harry doesn’t teach, or I stay on the opposite side of the classroom.”

Liam sighs. “What are you hiding from? No offense but this sounds childish as fuck.”

Louis frowns.

Niall is calmer.

“What are you worrying about?” he asks.

Louis wipes his cheeks. Since when has he been tearing up? He cries too much. Too much, too much—

“Louis?” Niall prompts.

“I’m scared,” he chokes out. “I’m so scared.”

“Of what, bubs?”

At Niall’s words, Louis lets the tears fall. He feels the pent up anxiety flow out through his crying. He hides his face in his sleeve, keeping the sounds quiet from the other tables.

“Of everything,” Louis says. He looks at Liam. “I bet you’re right, he probably doesn’t care about me. How could he? Just look at me, I’m a mess. I’m covered in my own tears and snot and I’m too anxious to even tell him that I care about him. Look at me. Just look. I don’t have any of my shit together. I’m a right mess. Like, all the time. What do I have to offer besides a shit load of anxiety?”

“So much. So stop with the pity party,” Liam says, stunning him into silence. “You’re seventeen, you’re not supposed to have your shit together right now. Look around, Lou. No one here knows what they’ll be doing with their lives, but everyone is here is trying to figure it out. Does Harry really look like the type of person who has it all together?”

“No,” Louis admits.

“Exactly,” Liam continues. “Stop telling yourself that he doesn’t care, that he’s pretending to like you. I see how he looks at you, Louis, and I fucking know that you see it too.”

“Sometimes I do,” Louis says quietly. “I saw it the last time I was with him. Truly with him. But that was two weeks ago. The feeling could be gone.”

“It’s not going to be gone,” Liam says. “Dakota and I—we’ve been in touch. We’re friends now, I think. But anyway, that’s beside the point.”

“Get to it, Liam,” Niall interjects. Louis shoots him a thankful look.

“Harry misses you, okay?” Liam says. “Like, a lot. Dakota says that you just walked out on him one day and that you haven’t come back.”

“I know that loving someone is scary,” Niall says gently. “But I want you to think about how anxious you’d be feeling if Harry walked out of your life two years ago without so much as a goodbye.”

“I didn’t walk out of his life,” Louis replies, defensive.

Niall touches his arm. “I’m going to be real with you, okay?”

Louis nods. “Okay.”

“You know how this looks like. I know that you know. So I’m going to ask you what you want from Harry. You love him. And I know that he loves you. It’s so fucking obvious. So what are you going to do?”

“Talk to him,” Louis says immediately. And fuck, it all makes sense now. “I’m gonna talk to him. In person. At his place.”

Niall smiles. Liam nods in approval.

“Proud of you,” Niall says.

Louis smiles, trying to look brave, but inside, he’s drowning in nerves.

He hopes Harry won’t sense it.

 

-

Louis shows up at Harry’s late. It’s almost nine, and he hasn’t eaten. He’s too nervous anyway. His stomach is in knots, quivering just like his hands and jaw.

He can barely breathe as he knocks on Harry’s door, quiet but with purpose. He’s scared, so scared. Harry could reject him, cast him away the way Louis had been doing.

He holds his breath as the door opens, and exhales loudly when he sees Harry’s face. The shock and the confusion that part his lips and make his eyes look sad punch the breath out of Louis’ lungs.

He wrings his hands.

“Hey,” Harry says dryly. Louis can see the hurt written all over his face. Hurt that he caused.

“Hi,” Louis murmurs. “Can I—would it be okay if I come in?”

Harry looks at him for a few seconds, bewildered. He looks back into his apartment, where Cookie is sitting on the floor. Harry stares at her thoughtfully, and she appears to nod. Eventually, Harry steps back and opens the door.

“Okay,” he says.

Louis shoves his hands into his pockets and follows Harry in. He feels like a stranger in Harry’s home, invading a space that he knows he made Harry feel that he left behind.

Harry plunks down on the couch, slowly, sitting guarded. Louis waits a beat before he sits on the opposite side of the couch, pulling his knees up to his chin.

“It’s been two fucking weeks,” Harry snaps.

Louis recoils at the tone of his voice.

“I know, I know,” he begins, voice wobbling. “And I’m so sorry. I—I got scared.”

“Scared? Louis, lots of people get scared. It doesn’t mean that they run away and don’t talk to their boyfriend for sixteen fucking days!”

Louis’ head snaps up. “I didn’t know that you were my boyfriend.”

Harry sighs. “I didn’t mean to bring it up like that.”

“You’re right, I’m—I’m sorry.” Louis looks down at his lap. The silence is unbearable.

“Why’d you come?” Harry asks.

“Because I—” _love you._ “Because I couldn’t keep avoiding you. My grades were suffering, and I—I was suffering, because I missed you. So much. I know that it wasn’t fair to you, I know. And I’m sorry.”

Harry looks away. “I’m sorry, for whatever it is I did to make you scared.”

Louis shakes his head. “It wasn’t you. It’s anxiety, Harry. It makes me do crazy things sometimes. It, uh. It makes me feel crazy sometimes.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I’m mad at you, but I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Louis doesn’t smile. “I wrote you something.”

“You did?” Harry lifts an eyebrow, and Louis can see the uncertainty behind the gesture.

“Yeah.” Louis reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled up piece of paper. “I, um. I wanted you to know some stuff about me, and what it was like growing up. Because it was hard sometimes, and it still is, and—”

Louis breaks off with a cry that he attempts to muffle in his sleeve. Harry reaches for his hand, squeezes gently, and lets go as quickly as he was there.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that I lo—you know that I care about you,” Harry says, blushing.

Louis looks away, to the letter in his lap.

“Okay. Okay,” he murmurs. He unfolds the paper and feels himself shake. He can barely read his own writing.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Harry says. He looks gentle, but Louis can tell he’s still upset. It can’t be okay, it can’t.

He clears his throat.

“Harry. Um. So I’m scared. I’m scared of so many things. I’ve—I’ve never been in a relationship before. I, uh. You feel like I’m gonna get hurt sometimes, but truthfully I’m more afraid of hurting you. It’s always been really hard for me to deal with my anxiety, to control it. I’m on medication but it doesn’t do much because I—because I worry about everything. I worry a lot about not being enough for you, about being annoying and too hard to love and about being too much. Truthfully I don’t have much to offer. I haven’t got my life figured out and I have no idea who I even want to be. I didn’t have a very good example of what healthy relationships and love are like and it makes me scared of how much I like you. I’m—I’m really sorry that I ran away, that I hid from you. But I want to be with you even though it scares the shit out of me. So, uh. I’m kinda fucked up, and I’m anxious more than I’m not, but I really care about you. So if you’ll have me, and if you’ll forgive me, I’m yours.”

Louis falls silent. He can’t meet Harry’s eyes, so he opts for staring at his lap. The letter falls to the floor, wrinkled even more from the harsh grip he had on it with his shaking hands. They haven’t stopped yet.

Harry’s fingers find his again.

“I don’t have my shit together,” he says. “I spend my nights drinking at Zayn’s and Dakota’s and I forget to feed Cookie a lot. I have a degree in the arts that I don’t use because I’m an art teacher’s assistant and I don’t get paid for painting outside of a fucking freshman art class. I barely clean my place and I’m terrible at cooking and at expressing feelings. But I want to be yours, too.”

Louis smiles. “So you forgive me?”

Harry laughs. “Yes, you idiot.”

Louis giggles. He rubs his thumb over Harry’s, smiling up at his pretty green eyes.

“Come here,” Harry says. He pulls Louis to his feet and gently tugs him down the hallway.

“Where are we going?” Louis asks.

“My art room.” Harry pauses at the door. “I want to try something. Something I’ve never done before.”

Louis’ heart beats faster. “Okay.”

Harry pulls him inside and closes the door, pressing Louis up against it. He presses close, lips brushing when he speaks. No matter how much Louis tries, Harry won’t let them touch.

“Take your shirt off.”

Louis touches his cheeks, pressing his thumbs into Harry’s dimples.

“Why?” he asks.

“I wanna paint on your back,” Harry whispers.

Louis stares at him for a while, thumbs rubbing against the soft skin of Harry’s cheeks. Harry watches him stare, hands on Louis’ hips. Louis leans in for a kiss, only a soft peck, and pulls away.

He tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. It lands on a pile of empty paint tubes. Louis is sure they’ll get a stain.

“Where do you want me?”

Harry grins. He lays Louis down on the floor and tucks pillows under his chest and legs. His fingertips trace the lines on Louis’ back, making Louis’ skin prickle with goosebumps.

“What are you gonna do to me?” he asks.

Harry kisses him between his shoulder blades. “It’s a surprise.”

The paint is cold against Louis’ skin. The bristles of Harry’s brushes are rough but also smooth, and Louis doesn’t understand how that could be. He tries to make sense of the brush strokes, but they all feel like jumbled patterns. Instead, he closes his eyes, lets himself relax.

Not thinking feels good.

“I was suicidal when I was fourteen,” Louis confesses. “Tried to kill myself a few times. I was really sad and I—I used to hurt myself. That’s why when I stayed over I kept my boxers pulled down so low, because I have scars on my legs.”

Harry pauses. “Oh?”

“Yeah. But Niall was good to me. I thought I loved him, because he was the only one that made me feel happy.” Louis snorts. “I didn’t, really. I was just lonely. My mum was kinda shit, you know?”

“She was?” Harry’s feigned innocence on the subject is surprisingly comforting, and Louis lets the tension go from his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “She had a lot of boyfriends that lasted a few weeks, maybe two months, and then they’d be gone. She’d get a new one a few weeks later and then we’d be back to where we started. She ignored me. We spent Fridays together and when she met my sister’s dad we got to spend Saturday mornings together, too.”

“What happened, baby?” Harry asks. Louis’ stomach lurches at the name, but in the good, warm way.

“He was the only man who she let stick around, and she loved him. She really did,” Louis says. “They had four kids together, he was special to her. They got divorced when I was sixteen, just before I was going into my last year of high school. We stopped talking. She’d take me to therapy and give me my meds in the morning, but Friday nights where we’d talk about things were rare. I stopped knowing anything about her life and she became a stranger to mine. We lived together but we didn’t know each other.”

Harry hums. “You still talk to her?”

“Sometimes. On Fridays,” Louis says. “It feels weird when we talk. We don’t know who we are anymore. It’s always strained. But I still talk to my sisters, and that’s lovely. They’re lovely. I’m gonna tell them about you soon.”

“I don’t see my mum much,” Harry says. “We used to be really close. I guess we still are, though I haven’t been home in years. She’s great, though. And so is my sister, but we don’t talk much these days. We’re both really busy.”

“That’s sad,” Louis says.

“I’ve only been in one relationship,” Harry tells him. “Her name was Jen. We dated for quite a while, but we were never really happy. We hurt each other really badly. And I’m guessing you think that because I’m older I’ve had tons of sex, but it’s only been a handful of times. With Jen, and two other guys I met at the few college parties I attended with Zayn. So I’m scared, too, Louis. I don’t want to fuck this up like I did before, and I don’t have that much experience with men. So.”

“But you’ve done stuff,” Louis counters.

“Yeah, but it didn’t feel like I did,” Harry says. “It was over too quickly and it didn’t feel good because I was too nervous. And you make me scared, but only because I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to make the same mistakes.”

Louis stays quiet for a moment. “If we’re both worried about hurting each other, then doesn’t that prove that we care about each other a lot?”

“I don’t want to ruin you the way I ruined Jen. The way she ruined me.”

“You’re not going to,” Louis says.

Harry laughs dryly. “How do you know?”

“Because you’re worried about it. Because you don’t want to hurt me. That just proves that you’re better than you were years ago.”

He senses Harry’s smile.

“I’m done,” he says.

Louis pushes himself up from the floor. The paint feels dry and flaky against his skin. He refrains from stretching.

Harry guides him into his room, where a mirror stands. Louis turns around, admiring the intricate designs on his back. Harry has painted cherry blossoms, bright and pastel and beautiful.

Louis smiles. “It’s amazing.”

Harry lets out a small laugh. “It is pretty good.”

Louis turns to him and reaches for his hands.

“Can I ask you something?”

Harry nods. “Anything.”

Louis turns to him and reaches for his hands.

“Can I ask you something?”

Harry nods. “Anything.”

“Harry, are—are you in love with me?” Louis asks.

“Louis—”

“Because I’m in love with you,” he says.

“Most people don’t ask that question.” Harry snorts.

Louis squeezes his hands. “Are you? Are you in love with me?”

Harry pulls him close, wraps his arms around his lower back, where there’s no pastel pink paint.

“Louis, I’m in love with you,” Harry says.

Louis smiles; laughs. “And I want you to fuck me.”

“You’ll ruin your cherry blossoms.”

“I don’t care. I want you to fuck me. I’m not scared anymore.”

Harry laughs.

He takes him apart with lingering kisses and gentle, wandering hands. Kisses melt against Louis’ inner thighs, then against his rim. Louis keens as Harry opens him up with his tongue and a few fingers, prodding at him, fucking in and out so slowly that it’s torturous.

“Please,” Louis whispers.

Harry’s eyes flick up to his. “You’re sure?”

Louis nods, desperation in his eyes.

The first press of him hurts, and Louis scrabbles at Harry’s back, face pressed into his neck for comfort. But then Harry rolls his hips, and Louis cries out.

Harry fucks him at a devastating pace, slow but rough, moving him up the bed on every thrust. Louis wines, squirming as he comes between them. Louis pets Harry’s hair as he comes, stroking through his sweaty mop of curls gently.

After Harry’s thrown the condom away and tossed his sheets off the bed (they’ve become stained with pastel pink paint), he pulls Louis into his arms, holding him.

“I love you,” he says.

Louis glances up at him. “You mean it? Truly?”

Harry nods, kisses his forehead. “Yeah. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Louis murmurs. He rubs the bumps on Harry’s chest, over his acne scars and caked on paint splatters. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Making my first time feel okay. I wasn’t as scared as I thought I’d be.”

Harry chuckles. “First time I’ve truly cared about the person I’m sleeping with. You mean something to me. Well, more than something. More like everything.”

Louis hides his grin in Harry’s chest. “Shut up.”

Harry laughs, pulling him closer.

“Let’s sleep,” he says.

The room gets engulfed in darkness, and Louis snuggles further into Harry’s arms. This time, he stays the night.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry learns that he and Louis get interrupted during sex a lot. 

Granted, they’ve only been having sex for a week, but still. They’ve been interrupted every time… all three times. 

First it was Dakota, who had forgotten what Louis’ shoes realized and didn’t think he would be in Harry’s room. Having them walk in on them while Harry was going down on him was more than awkward, and even worse was how he had to explain to Zayn that he had now started having sex with a sort of student, not just dating him.   
Zayn wasn’t pleased. 

The second time was Dakota again, a mere ten minutes later. They had neglected to realize that the two of them probably would have just continued, and so they walked in on Louis clumsily trying to ride. (He never would have told Harry, but Louis’ knees were starting to ache, and so he was thankful for Dakota ruining the mood that day.)   
The third time turned out to be a good thing. 

They had been lazily fucking, slow movements on Harry’s behalf that had made Louis squirm. His phone rang once, twice, and then a third time before he finally answered. Louis had rolled over, panting, looking discouraged. 

His sour expression (and Harry’s) didn’t last long, and then Harry was freaking out and Louis was crying and insisting they go out for dinner to the fanciest place they could afford—his treat. No matter how many times Harry protested, Louis wouldn’t let him back out, insisted that this was a matter that needed to be celebrated.

So there they are, seated in the very back of the restaurant, right under a window. Harry turns his head and sees a few rows of condominiums and smiles. Something about the hundreds of glowing lights and the evidence of life, hundreds of lives, makes his stomach feel warm. And then he looks at Louis, at his smiling face staring back at him, and the warmth explodes, sending a fuzzy feeling throughout his body. 

He has never been the type to love openly, but Louis makes him want to. Louis makes him want to be the best he can be, paint the best pictures he can and teach Ms. Morton’s students the best art he can.

He reaches for Louis’ hand. “I love you.”

And when he says it, he means it, just like he did the first time he’d said it and the two times he’s said it since. Harry hasn’t believed in something so fiercely since he decided to move away from home at sixteen to pursue art. No matter the struggles, he still believes in it. He thinks he always will.   
Louis positively beams. 

“I love you, too,” he says, and Harry has never believed those words so completely since the last time his mother said them to him when he left home almost eight years ago. 

As their waitress comes around to take their orders, Louis only stumbles a few times, and Harry wonders if it’s the pride he’s feeling or just because maybe he feels better. Harry knows he can’t fix people, but when he looks at Louis he wishes he could just slot all his pieces back together again. But people don’t work that way, and Louis is not broken.  
Louis decides to order an expensive bottle of champagne, and Harry croaks when he hears the request come out of his mouth. He remains from blanching until their waitress leaves, and he can tell by the way that Louis is ridged that he’s second guessing the choice as well. 

“Thought you didn’t drink,” Harry says. 

He can see Louis turning words over carefully in his head, selecting the right way to respond. 

“I don’t,” he finally says. “But I know you do, and it’s a special occasion.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It isn’t that special.”

“It is! It so is!” Louis protests. 

He blushes when he realizes he was close to yelling at that people in the surrounding tables have looked up. 

“Harry, stop trying to be humble, or whatever the fuck this is,” he says. “You just got selected to put your artwork in a prestigious gallery and give a speech.”

“Small speech,” Harry corrects. 

“Still! This is what you’ve been waiting to get recognized for years, and now a proper art gallery wants to display your work. You’re gonna get paid for it. This is so exciting!” 

Louis seems to be more into the idea than Harry is. Maybe it’s the naivety, that Louis thinks it’s going to be as easy as hanging a few paintings and sitting back for the money. Harry knows it’s going to take more than that. It’s going to be designing new things that are better and bigger than anything he’s ever done before. It’s going to be sleepless nights and time spent writing a speech that he will inevitably redo at least fifty times before he deems it good enough. It is going to be hundreds of paintings made before he has created the right one to put in a gallery.  
Still, he bites his tongue. He doesn’t want to crush Louis’ pride. 

“I’m still in shock,” he says instead, which isn’t even a lie. Out of all the artists his age they selected him. Him, out of at least a hundred or two. He didn’t think he was good enough for that.   
He should have listened when Zayn told him to put himself out there sooner. 

They weren’t even home when he got the phone call. He had half expected his phone’s insistent ringing to be Dakota, cock blocking them again from work, but it had been Taylor Williams from London Art, and he had liked that much better than Dakota at that moment. 

He doesn’t even know how to tell the two of them other than saying, ‘Oh, I got selected to be part of an exclusive young artist’s area in that prestigious gallery and I get to do a speech.’ How is he even going to tell his mum?

He spends dinner listening to Louis ramble on about how amazing of an artist he is. Although it’s flattering, he eventually gets tired of listening to all of the talking up about himself. He isn’t that fantastic, and he’s sure Louis knows that, too, even if he does appear to be in denial. 

By the end of the night, Harry’s barely touched the champagne. He feels badly about it, because Louis is a first year college student and he doesn’t have the money to spend on wasted alcoholic beverages. But Louis insists that it’s okay and that they can bring it home, and Harry stops feeling as bad. 

Harry attempts to pay, but Louis insists, and Harry doesn’t fight him on it. He needs to save money for his supplies so he can even make art for the gallery. One day, as he promised Zayn, he’ll tell Louis how much he’s struggling financially. Today is not that day. 

Louis’ fingers reach for his empty hand, the one that isn’t holding the bag containing the barely opened bottle of champagne. He stares at Harry with big, blue eyes, and Harry can see a question shining behind them. 

He stops just outside of his car and pulls Louis closer, knees brushing.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

Louis hesitates, and for a brief moment Harry panics and thinks that something really is wrong. Anxiety, perhaps? He knows it can get bad but he just doesn’t know the extent of it, not to the fullest. Louis doesn’t look shaky, so Harry forces the thoughts out of his head. It’s hard to keep them away when Louis begins gnawing at his bottom lip. 

“What is it?” Harry prompts. He puts his hand on Louis’ shoulder, thumb gently massaging his collarbone.

Louis looks to the ground. “Did you—did you want to come back to my place? I know my dorm room is small and that Niall will be there but you’ve never stayed the night, and I—and I want you to.”

He looks so flustered. Harry chuckles, endeared. 

“Okay,” he says. 

It’s simple, like they’ve started to become. Louis smiles wider than Harry has ever seen him, and it warms his heart. Louis could never be like Jen. He’s too sweet, too shy. So Harry reaches for his hand and holds on tight, smiling back at him. 

So they drive. Harry holds Louis’ hand and Louis holds Harry’s. They listen to the radio and Harry tells Louis he loves him and Louis says it back. They kiss at a red light. They sing along to the radio and smile. And Harry feels free. 

He tells Louis this, once they’ve stripped down to their underwear and Louis has shyly pulled on Harry’s undershirt and they’ve cuddled up in bed. Louis’ bed, a place Harry has never been but feels like he has before with Louis wrapped around him like this. 

Louis smooths his hand over Harry’s bare chest.

“Thank you for staying,” he whispers. 

Harry’s heart clenches. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”  
It’s one of the sappiest things he’s ever said and it makes him cringe momentarily, but the way Louis blushes bright red and smiles makes him want to keep saying romantic things. 

He kisses him on the nose. “You should get some sleep. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

“So do you.” Louis pokes his cheek, right where his dimples sit. 

Harry shakes his head. “I took the day off. Zayn needed my help putting together his new bed since Dakota’s working, and I also need to go shopping for art supplies.”

“Oh. Okay.” Louis tucks his head underneath his chin. He makes a noise of contentment when Harry’s fingers find their way to his hair, stroking gently. 

“I’ll see you Tuesday, though,” Harry says. A kiss melts against Louis’ forehead. 

He nods. He tries to hide a yawn in Harry’s chest, but breaks off in giggles. 

“I’m tired,” he murmurs. 

Harry snorts. “I can tell.”

“Can you get the light?” Louis asks. 

Harry tugs the string on Louis’ table lamp and the room is engulfed in darkness. Louis rolls to his side and pats his back, a clear invitation to spoon. Harry swaddles him up in his arms and tucks his face into the back of Louis’ neck, breathing in the sweet scent of his hair. 

He tells Louis that he loves him again, for the third time that day. He never tires of saying it, and he never tires of hearing it reciprocated. 

For the first time in ages, he falls asleep with the feeling of safety blanketing him, smile on his face. 

-

Harry is roused by Louis leaving the bed. He makes a noise, reaching for him, but Louis hushes him.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispers. “I’m getting ready for school.”

Harry wants to protest, but his eyes are so heavy that he rolls back over. He burrows his face into his pillow.   
“Is that Harry?” he hears Niall ask. 

Harry freezes up. He feels badly, because Louis thinks he’s sleeping, but now he’s awake and listening intently for Louis’ response. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. “He stayed over last night.”

“Oh?”  
“Yeah. We went out for dinner last night and I asked him to stay over. And he did. So.” 

“So you guys are a thing now?” Niall asks. 

“I’m pretty sure we’re boyfriends. I told him that I love him and he said it back. So we’re happy. We haven’t really discussed what we are but I don’t think we need to. We’re just us and I like it. It’s simple. Well, as simple as I can be,” Louis says with a chuckle. Harry imagines Louis doing the thing that he loves where he bites his lip.   
He hears Niall pat Louis on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” Louis murmurs. Harry pictures him blushing. “We should get to school.”

“What about Harry?” Niall asks. 

“Let him sleep,” Louis says. Harry presses his smile into his pillow. 

He hears the door open and shut, and then he’s left alone in Louis’ dorm room. He hasn’t been inside a college dorm in ages, and he never thought he’d be back. Then again, he never thought he’d have a college age boyfriend either. 

He rolls over and goes back to sleep, keeping Louis’ words fresh in his mind to fall asleep smiling.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys to much for reading! I've been working on this fic for about nine months and I'm really proud of how it turned out. Anxiety is really difficult for a lot of people, including myself, and so I hope this was an okay portrayal of some of your struggles as it was with mine. I hope you enjoyed, and that you found comfort in this story like I did <3.

“Harry!” Louis yells. His voice echoes through Harry’s tiny apartment, high pitched and strained.

Harry drops his tooth brush into the sink and yells back, “What is it?”

Louis peeks his head into the bathroom and frowns when he sees that Harry is still in his underwear.

“We’re going to be late,” he says.

Harry has become accustomed to how much Louis worries over the past four months, but he still struggles to get his ass out of bed an hour early like Louis typically wants.

He spits into the sink.

“We still have an hour and a half,” Harry assures him. He steps back and grabs Louis’ hands, giving them a squeeze. “Take a deep breath, okay? We’re not going to be late. I’m going to finish brushing my teeth and then I’m going to put some makeup on my acne. Then I’m going to get dressed and we’re going to go to the unveiling. Everything is going to be alright and we’re not going to be late.”

Louis nods. His grip on Harry’s hand is turning his knuckles white. He’s shaking.

“What’s got you so anxious?” Harry asks. He gently frees his hand from Louis’ grip and presses his palm to his cheek. Louis leans into it, eyes fluttering.

“I’m gonna meet your family,” he whispers.

“Just my mum and my sister.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “Like that makes it better.”

Harry exhales. His breath blows Louis’ fringe to the side, and he scrambles to fix it.

“They’ll like you. You’re sweet and you care about me.” Harry strokes his thumb across Louis’ cheekbone. “I haven’t seen them in five years. Either of them. I’m nervous, too, but it’s going to be alright. They’re kind.”

Louis reaches for him. Harry pulls him into a hug, nuzzling his hair. Louis smells like his shampoo, and Harry smiles.

“I know it’s cheesy,” he says, “but just be yourself.”

Louis’ groan gets muffled by Harry’s bare chest.

“They’re going to hate me.”

“They’re not going to hate you, baby,” Harry reassures. He drops a kiss to the top of his head. “You make me happy. I haven’t been happy in a long time. They’re going to like you. And I love you, so.”

Louis melts into his arms. “I’m sorry for being a pain.”

“You’re not a pain. I’ll tell you this every single time you get anxious and I won’t ever change my mind,” Harry says.

Louis gently pulls away, silently letting Harry know he can go back to getting ready. He hoists himself up onto the counter top and swings his legs. Harry melts.

“Liam said he can come to the after party,” Louis says, swapping subjects.

Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “After party?”

Louis pales. “Yeah, I was throwing you one. It isn’t really a party, it’s just dinner with friends. I’m sorry if you didn’t want that, I can still cancel. I just thought—”

“Hey.” Harry stops him by placing his hand on Louis’ thigh. “Thank you.”

Louis nods. “Yeah.”

They fall silent as Harry blends concealer into his red spots. He pulls Louis off of the counter and drags him to his room, which has started to become Louis’, too. Most of things have been moved in, and though it’s unofficial, Harry is sure that they’re pretty much living together.

Louis sits on the bed as Harry dresses. His clothes aren’t nearly as fancy as Louis’ (who could be in a suit if he were to put a blazer on), but he figures a plaid button up he’s sure he borrowed from Zayn is good enough.

He turns around and places his hands on Louis’ shoulders, leaning in for a kiss. Louis’ meets him halfway, lips melting against Harry’s. Harry keeps it gentle, careful not to spook him. When Louis gets really anxious he has trouble reciprocating affection, and Harry has learned not to smother him.

They understand each other and they’ve found comfort in each other. Harry has never found such a feeling of safety when looking at someone before. He thinks they’ve become something steady, something real.

“Are you okay?” he asks once he’s pulled away.

Louis nods.

“We should get going.”

Harry relents.

The car ride is silent apart from the radio. Louis is drumming his fingers against the dashboard. Harry is overthinking. He’s practiced his speech thousands of times, rehearsed and rehearsed until he had _dreams_ of what he plans on saying. He shouldn’t be this nervous. Yet, he is.

He mumbles his speech under his breath so many times that Louis has to hold his hand. He holds it the entire length of the car ride, and he holds it the walk up to the gallery. Harry hold on tight. Louis won’t let him go.

Zayn is waiting for them on the front steps. Dakota is sitting beside him, dressed in a loose dress with a blazer overtop. They stand up to hug him when he approaches, and Louis releases him.

“You’re going to be great,” Dakota says, squeezing him tight.

Zayn rubs his back once Dakota pulls back.

“You look terrified.”

Louis eyes him closely as Harry says, “I’m scared out of my mind.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Zayn says. “I promise.”

Harry nods, praying he’s right.

He stays with them a while longer, but then he spots his mother across the road and he sprints after her, screaming for her. She engulfs him in her arms, whispering his name.

“Oh, my baby,” she mumbles. “You’ve grown. You’re so handsome.”

Harry holds on tighter. “I should have come home sooner.”

“We don’t have to talk about this now,” his mum says. “Right now we’re here to see your beautiful artwork.”

Harry laughs and pulls away to tug his sister into a hug. Gemma squeezes him tightly, fucking with his hair.

“I missed you,” she says.

Harry mumbles the sentiment back into the hollow of her throat and tugs at the bottom of her hair just because.

“Is this your boyfriend?” his mum asks, and Harry pulls back to follow her gaze.

Louis is standing only a metre away, rocking on his heels. Harry smiles reassuringly at him, silently telling him to relax.

Anne coos. “Oh, you’re gorgeous.”

She hugs Louis almost as tightly as she did Harry. She even rubs his back. Harry peaks at Louis face, and sees him looking almost at ease.

He grins.

“I need to go set up,” he says. “Get to know each other, mingle! I’ll see you guys after my speech.”

They wish him luck, and Harry disappears into the gallery with a sporadic heartbeat. He hides behind the curtains after he’s set up his paintings, struggling to breathe. He takes deep breathes, calming himself down slowly. He can’t make his heart beat normally, but he gets his breathing under control.

He has thirty seconds. He can do it.

The curtains open, and Harry stares out at the crowd. It’s bigger than he had anticipated, and he feels his palms getting clammy. He locates Louis in the front row beside his mum, who gives him a smile. He feels himself calm down.

“Hi,” he begins, and awkwardly clears his throat. “I’m Harry Styles. I’ve spent the past four months preparing for this unveiling, and I think I did something truly amazing with my paintings. I’ve created three paintings for you today, but one is unlike anything I’ve ever made before.”

He pulls the covers off all three paintings, revealing two brightly coloured canvases and one that’s dark and cold to the eye.

Harry takes in a deep breath and steps to the first painting.

“When I sat down and thought about what I wanted to draw, I thought of my best friend, Zayn, and Dakota, the lovely person he’s been with for the past three years. We were spending time together a month or so ago, and something really beautiful happened.”

He points to the painting, which is of Zayn looking at Dakota. It doesn’t seem like anything special, but to Harry it holds too many meanings for them to understand.

Harry continues, “Zayn has always been a rough guy, but Dakota has softened him. I truly believe that Dakota is his soulmate, and I don’t typically believe in that type of love. But I knew as soon as Zayn looked at them like this and said, ‘baby, I wanna marry you’ when he thought I wasn’t paying attention that they were meant to be. So I decided to paint them in that moment, because I wanted to share a love so pure and beautiful that the world doesn’t deserve it. So I’m on board, get married already!”

Zayn bursts out laughing, and he hears Dakota giggling. Harry grins and steps to his second painting.

“This is my boyfriend, Louis,” Harry says, and he sees the way Louis blushes. “But he’s more than my boyfriend. He’s probably the boy I want to spend my life with, and he’s incredibly beautiful. I’ve always been fascinated by every last detail on his face, and since the day I met him I’ve been wanting to paint him every day. So naturally, I wanted his gorgeous face to be one of the first things in my gallery collection.

I created this the day after we spent our first night together. He looked as beautiful as ever that morning with the way the sun was shining on him and the way his mouth was hanging open, and I wanted to share just how in love with him I felt at that moment.”

He steps back to the final painting, the dark one.

“I created this to symbolize the way I felt when I first started art,” Harry says. “I was twelve, and I was in a dark place. This is what my mind looked like: a dark, cluttered mess. Art became not only what I enjoyed, but what I needed. And although I am not nearly as sad, I still need it. Not for a reason to live, but because it’s a part of me.

Thank you for coming today. Again, I’m Harry Styles, and if you like what you see, there will be more exclusive pieces of art displayed in the youth section of the gallery as of now. Thank you.”

Everyone erupts into applause, but Harry only has eyes for Louis. They lock eyes and smile at each other, and Harry undoubtedly decides that this is who he’s supposed to be.


End file.
